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The 
Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

The  Romance  of  an  Irish  Village 


By 

K.  F.  Purdon 


With  an  Introduction  by 

George  A.  Birmingham 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 

XLbe   f^nickerbocfiec    preea 

1914 


Copyright,  1914 

BY 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Vbe  ftnicketbodiet  pteee,  View  Socft 


CONTENTS 
Introduction 

CHAPTER 

I. — The  Furry  Farm 
11. — The  Game  Leg    . 
III.— The  "Rest  of  Him" 
IV. — A  Daylight  Ghost 
V. — Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo 
VI. — A  Settled  Girl  . 
VII. — An  American  Visitor 
VIII. — Rosy  at  Furry  Farm 


PAGB 
V 

I 

37 
57 
105 
146 
182 
226 
278 


IX. — Comrade  Children  atthe  Furry  Farm    314 


iii 


2137802   • 


INTRODUCTION 

WITH  A  NOTE  ON  THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  PLAIN 

By  George  A.  Birmingham 

It  is  the  duty  of  the  writer  of  an  introduction, 
as  I  iinderstand  his  position,  to  provide  what  Mr. 
Bernard  Shaw  calls  "First  Aid  to  Critics. "  That 
is  to  say,  it  is  my  business  to  explain  the  position 
which  Miss  Purdon  holds  in  modern  Irish  literature 
and  to  say  why  her  work  is  interesting  and  in  what 
respects  it  is  good.  I  do  not  feel  in  the  least  in- 
clined to  point  out  the  weaknesses  of  her  writing. 
For  one  thing,  there  are  plenty  of  reviewers  in  the 
world  who  will  do  that,  and  apparently  take  pleas- 
ure in  doing  it.  For  another,  although  like  all 
human  works  this  book  is  imperfect,  I  have  enjoyed 
reading  it  and  have  been  too  much  interested  in 
what  I  read  to  be  impressed  by  the  faults  which 
must,  no  doubt,  exist.  I  shall,  therefore,  provide 
aid  only  to  the  kinder  sort  of  critic,  to  him  who  is 


vi  Introduction 

sufficiently  wise  to  appreciate  Miss  Piirdon's  work. 
I  shall  save  him  a  lot  of  trouble,  for,  if  he  reads  this 
introduction,  he  will  be  able  to  allow  himself  to 
enjoy  Miss  Purdon's  writing  without  bothering 
himself  about  what  he  is  to  say  in  his  review.  I 
shall  tell  him  that. 

The  first  point  about  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 
to  which  I  wish  to  draw  attention  is  that  it  is 
written  in  prose.  This  may  seem  to  be  a  common- 
place and  obvious  kind  of  fact,  but  in  reality  it  has 
a  certain  importance  which  might  very  well  be 
overlooked.  Miss  Purdon  belongs  to  the  Irish 
Literary  Movement,  and  it  has,  as  yet,  produced 
very  little  prose  and  less  prose  fiction.  At  the 
beginning  the  movement  was  inspired  by  the 
hero  tales  of  ancient  Ireland  and  the  mysticism 
in  which  they  are  enveloped.  These  tales  came 
down  from  the  days  of  paganism,  and  paganism, 
as  everybody  who  appreciates  the  Irish  Literary 
Movement  knows,  was  a  wonderfiil  and  romantic 
thing,  far  superior  to  the  dowdy  materialism  of 
Christianity.  Also,  our  literary  movement  fed 
a  good  deal  upon  fairies.  Who  could  write  in 
ordinary  prose  about  subjects  so  fascinating  as 
folk-lore  and  fairies?  Mr.  Yeats  and  his  followers 
could  not.    They  wrote  mystic  and,  as  time  went 


Introduction  vii 

on,  rather  incomprehensible  verse.  With  them 
were  a  number  of  what  we  may  call  politically 
patriotic  poets  like  "Ethna  Carbery"  and  Miss 
Milligan.  They  were  easier  to  understand,  but 
were  still  a  long  way  from  the  commonplace  things 
of  ordinary  life.  Then  came  another  band  of 
writers,  headed  by  Mr.  Padraic  Colm,  who  gave  us 
splendid  poems  about  ploughers  and  drovers,  but 
still  felt  it  necessary  to  drag  in  Dana  and  Wotan 
occasionally.  Mr.  James  Stephens,  in  his  verse, 
went  a  step  beyond  them,  for  his  is  the  genius 
which  can  make  the  back  street  beautiful.  Poetry 
can  get  no  nearer  to  realism  than  James  Stephens 
and  Joseph  Campbell. 

Meanwhile  the  Abbey  Theatre  had  been  founded 
and  the  energies  of  many  young  Irish  writers  were 
absorbed  in  composing  plays  for  it.  It  developed 
in  much  the  same  way  as  the  poetry  did.  At  first 
the  drama  was  almost  as  mystic  and  far-away  as 
the  early  lyrics.  Then  came  Synge,  the  greatest  of 
all  the  Abbey  Theatre  writers,  who  put  a  gorgeous 
language  into  the  mouths  of  rather  squalid  but  in- 
tensely human  peasants.  The  tendency  of  his  fol- 
lowers had  been  to  emphasise  the  squalidness  but  to 
leave  out  the  poetry  and  a  good  deal  of  the  human 
nattire.   The  lines  written  by  Max  Beerbohm  about 


viii  Introduction 

Mr.  Masefield  might  very  well  be  applied  to  some 
of  them : 

A  swear  word  in  a  village  slum 
A  simple  swear  word  is  to  some ; 
To  .  .  .  something  more. 

In  verse  and  drama  alike  the  mystic  has  given 
way  to  the  materialist,  high  poetry  to  realism. 
But  as  yet  the  Irish  Literary  Revival  has  produced 
very  Httle  ordinary  prose  literature  and  hardly 
any  fiction.  Apart  from  Lady  Gregory's  poetic 
"  Kiltartan  "  prose,  the  best  that  has  been  produced 
has  generally  been  of  a  journalistic  kind.  I  do 
not  mean  that  it  has  been  journalese,  but  that  it 
has  appeared  in  newspapers  and  periodicals,  and 
has  been  concerned  primarily  with  questions  of 
the  day.  To  mention  only  two  examples,  no 
modern  work  of  its  kind  has  been  more  brilliant 
than  the  articles  in  The  Homestead  written  by 
"AE.,"  while  Mr.  Arthur  Griffith's  editorials  for 
The  United  Irishman  and  Sinn  Fein  are  often 
worthy  of  comparison  with  the  best  that  came 
from  the  pen  of  Mitchel.  Of  a  more  permanent 
kind  were  the  critical  articles  of  "John  Eglinton," 
many  of  them  published  originally  in  the  now 
defunct  Dana. 


Introduction  ix 

There  have  been,  of  course,  a  number  of  Irish 
novelists  and  essayists  who  have  made  great 
names  for  themselves,  but  they  have  not  drawn 
their  inspiration  from  the  movement  which  pro- 
duced the  poets.  Mr.  George  Moore  has  viewed 
the  Irish  Literary  Revival  as  a  spectator.  His 
original  inspiration  was  not  from  Ireland.  Miss 
SomerviUe  and  Miss  Ross  are  the  successors  of 
Lever.  No  comer  of  the  mantle  of  Mr.  Standish 
O'Grady  has  fallen  upon  them.  They  would  have 
written  just  the  same  if  there  had  been  no  Gaelic 
League,  no  fairies,  and  no  ancient  Irish  heroes. 
For  Oscar  Wilde  and  Bernard  Shaw  Ireland  can 
claim  just  the  same  sort  of  credit,  and  no  more,  as 
she  can  claim  for  Sheridan  and  Goldsmith.  Stand- 
ish O'Grady,  the  father  of  the  whole  movement, 
wove  historical  romances  out  of  incidents  in  Irish 
history.     He  has  had  few  or  no  followers. 

There  are  signs  now  that  the  literary  movement, 
having  worked  from  the  highest  to  the  most 
materialistic  in  prose  and  drama,  is  going  to  fol- 
low the  natural  course  of  development  and  express 
itself  in  prose  fiction.  Mr.  James  Stephens,  one 
of  the  most  brilliant  of  our  poets,  has  deserted 
verse  and  taken,  quite  suddenly,  to  novel-writing. 
Already  he  has  earned  fame  and  an  assured  position. 


X  Introduction 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  he  is  typical  of  a  wide 
change  of  which  Miss  Purdon  is  another  example. 
If  she  had  published  a  book  ten  or  fifteen  years 
ago  it  would  probably  have  been  verse.  Happily 
this  is  to-day,  and  she  has  foimd  a  scope  for  her 
abilities  more  suitable  to  them  than  poetry. 

I  hope  that  Miss  Purdon  will  not  resent  being 
called  part  of  a  movement.  When  she  has  written 
a  few  more  books  and  read  reviews  of  them  she  will 
become  quite  accustomed  to  this  particular  kind 
of  insult.  In  reality  she  holds  a  position  a  little 
apart  from  other  Irish  authors.  Her  distinction 
is  that  she  has  chosen  a  new  part  of  the  coimtry  to 
write  about.  I  do  not  know  exactly  where  the 
Furry  Farm  is,  but  I  am  inclined  to  place  it  some- 
where in  the  western  part  of  Leinster,  in  Meath  or 
Kildare,  on  the  great  plain  which  fattens  cattle 
for  the  market.  Other  Irish  writers,  whether  they 
wanted  humour,  romance,  or  mysticism,  have  gone 
to  the  maritime  counties  for  their  material.  Gal- 
way,  Cork,  and  Wicklow  provide  scenes  for  most 
of  the  plays  which  are  acted  in  the  Abbey  Theatre. 
Some  poets  write  about  Donegal,  others  prefer 
North-East  Ulster,  and  a  few  brave  spirits  have 
ventured  into  the  streets  and  suburbs  of  Dublin. 
But  I  cannot  remember  that  any  plays  or  poems  of 


Introduction  xi 

importance  have  been  written  about  the  people  of 
the  central  plain.  They  are  regarded,  for  some 
reason  obscure  to  me,  as  unworthy  of  a  place  in 
literature.  They  have,  so  one  would  gather,  lost 
the  virtues  of  Gaeldom  without  acquiring  the 
sentimental  regard  for  them  which  rescues  Dublin 
from  the  reproach  of  "seoninism. "  The  accepted 
view  of  Hterary  Ireland  is  that  the  people  of  Meath 
are  as  iminteresting  as  the  bullocks  which  they 
herd. 

Miss  Purdon  comes  to  us  to  prove  the  contrary. 
A  great  merit  of  her  work  is  the  fidelity  with  which 
she  reproduces  the  dialect  of  the  peasants  about 
whom  she  writes.  I  do  not  know  the  western 
Leinster  speech  myself,  but  I  am  certain  that  Miss 
Purdon  deals  with  it  faithfully.  She  could  not — 
no  single  person  could — have  invented  all  the 
phrases  and  expressions  which  she  has  put  into 
the  mouths  of  the  characters  of  her  stories.  We 
have  in  her  book  the  Hving  tongue  spoken  by  a 
neglected  class  of  Irishmen.  I  do  not  say  that  the 
people  of  Meath  and  Kildare  have  the  magic 
glamour  of  Celtic  mysticism.  I  am  no  judge  of 
such  things.  I  have  seldom  succeeded  in  recognis- 
ing it  even  in  places  where  I  know  that  it  must 
be.     But  Miss  Purdon's  people  have  imagination. 


xii  Introduction 

How  else  would  they  say  of  a  lonely  place,  "There 
wasn't  a  neighbour  within  the  bawl  of  an  ass  of  it "  ? 
If  they  had  not  humour,  they  would  not  think  of 
saying,  "His  pockets  would  be  like  sideboards, 
the  way  he'd  have  them  stuck  out  with  meat  and 
eggs  and  so  on."  The  men  who  use  expressions 
like  these  cannot  possibly  be  stupid,  and  Miss 
Purdon  makes  them  very  real.  They  are,  as  their 
speech  shows,  of  a  type  different  from  that  of  the 
peasantry  of  the  Atlantic  coast.  Perhaps  they 
have  no  appeal  to  make  to  poets;  but  they 
must  certainly  be  capable  of  providing  material 
for  many  plays  and  novels.  Miss  Purdon  has 
discovered  a  new  coimtry,  found  a  fresh  subject 
for  the  pens  of  Irish  writers. 

G.  A.  B. 


The 
Folk  of  Furry  Farm 


The  Folk   of   Furry  Farm 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  FURRY  FARM 

There  isn't  one  now  at  Ardenoo  that  could  tell  you 
rightly  about  the  Heffemans,  or  when  the  first  of 
the  name  had  come  in  upon  the  Furry  Farm. 
People  would  remark  that  they  were  "the  oldest 
standards  about  the  place,  and  had  been  there 
during  secula.'*  And  some  said  that  in  the  real 
old  ancient  times,  it  was  Heffernans  that  had 
owned  the  whole  cotmtryside,  and  had  been  great 
high  Quality  then,  imtil  they  were  turned  out  of 
their  home,  through  their  being  Catholics.  Of 
course  such  things  did  occur,  but  not  often.  There 
would  not  be  many  wiUing  to  be  mixed  up  in  such 
dirty  work.  And,  moreover,  those  that  came  in  on 
land  in  that  way,  mostly  always  did  it  to  keep  their 
place  warm  for  whoever  had  had  to  qmt  out. 


2  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

There's  a  lot  of  nattire  in  people,  more  than  they 
get  credit  for.  That's  how  things  don't  turn  out 
as  bad  as  you  might  expect  very  often.  And  of 
course  along  with  all,  there's  a  great  satisfaction 
in  getting  the  better  of  the  law. 

It's  likely  some  friend  of  the  Heffemans  had 
stood  to  them  in  this  way,  when  they  had  had  to 
leave,  and  had  just  held  the  land  for  them,  till  they 
could  slip  back  upon  it  again.  But  they  had  never 
said  how  it  was.  A  queer,  silent  sort  they  were 
ever  and  always,  that  wotdd  never  have  much  talk 
out  of  them  about  anything  that  would  be  going 
on,  let  alone  about  themselves. 

But  however  it  came  to  pass,  at  the  time  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  about,  there  was  nothing  left 
of  what  had  been  once  a  very  great  fine  kind  of  a 
place,  only  a  bit  of  a  ruined  house,  like,  with  the 
remains  of  a  roof  made  of  slabs  of  bog-oak  over 
part  of  it,  and  it  all  reducing  away  under  the 
weather. 

Whatever  it  used  to  be,  the  Heffemans  I  knew 
would  just  fasten  a  calf  in  it,  maybe,  or  put  a  goose 
to  hatch  there  the  way  her  mind  wouldn't  be  riz, 
it  being  a  very  quiet  corner.  And  it  was  necessary 
to  have  every  such  little  business  as  that  going  on 
at  the  Furry  Farm,  if  you  wanted  to  be  able  even 


The  Furry  Farm  3 

to  pay  the  rent,  let  alone  live  yourself  out  of  the 
land.  For  the  Heffernans  had  to  pay  rent  now, 
as  well  as  another ;  and  for  land  that  was  no  great 
shakes,  being  very  poor  and  thin.  The  best  of  it 
they  never  got  back  at  all. 

Betimes  you'd  hear  it  remarked  in  Ardenoo,  how 
that  they  and  their  land  were  well  matched.  For 
if  some  of  their  bottom-land  was  sour,  so  was  the 
Heffernan  temper;  and  they  coiild  be  as  crabbed 
and  contrary  in  their  ways  as  the  iuize  that  was 
bristling  over  their  own  hills.  And  in  another 
thing  they  were  like  their  farm.  Whatever  treat- 
ment they  got,  that's  what  they'd  give.  If  you 
acted  well  by  a  Heffeman,  they'd  do  the  same  by 
you;  but  they'd  never  pass  over  a  bad  turn;  and, 
troth!  there's  more  than  the  Heffernans  of  the 
opinion  that  it's  only  a  fool  that  forgets!  And  so 
by  their  land.  Hungry  as  it  was,  it  would  always 
return  some  sort  of  a  crop,  in  proportion  to  the  way 
it  was  tilled  and  manured.  But  it  and  its  owners 
weren't  much  to  look  at;  you  had  to  know  them 
well,  before  you  could  find  out  the  good  there  was 
in  them. 

In  the  course  of  time,  there  was  a  Heffeman  in 
the  Furry  Farm,  Michael  by  name,  that  was  what 
you  might  call  a  chip  of  the  old  block.     Quiet-going 


4  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

in  himself,  he  was;  silent  and  fond  of  industering; 
and  a  bit  near  about  money,  on  the  top  of  all. 
You'll  often  see  people  like  that;  as  if  them  that 
worked  hard  had  no  time  for  enjoying  what  they 
make;  whereas  people  that  are  poor  and  through- 
other  will  spend  their  last  penny  twice  as  free  as 
what  one  like  Heffernan  would  spend  his  first. 
And  what's  more,  they'll  get  far  better  value  out 
of  it,  too. 

But  that  was  just  Michael's  way  of  going  on; 
he'd  sooner  be  putting  up  money  in  the  old  stocking 
than  spending  it  on  an  odd  spree.  And  he  had 
every  right  to  please  himself.  For  he  had  no  one 
else,  barring  a  sister,  older  than  himself,  and  twice 
as  curious  in  her  ways,  and  she  with  a  tongue  in 
her  head  as  long  as  to-day  and  to-morrow.  Many's 
the  time  she  let  Mickey  feel  the  length  and  breadth 
of  it,  but  he  had  the  fashion  of  never  making  her 
an  answer,  no  matter  what.  It  was  the  best  of 
his  play  to  say  nothing.  A  man  scarce  ever  can 
get  the  better  of  a  woman  that  starts  to  give  him  a 
tongue-thrashing.  Sure  they  do  have  great  prac- 
tice at  it;  and  small  blame  to  them!  isn't  it  the 
only  thing  they  can  do,  to  have  their  say  out? 
Heffernan  held  his  whisht  in  particular,  because 
he  knew  well  what  would  happen.     The  sister 


The  Furry  Farm  5 

would  get  that  outrageous  mad  with  him,  when 
she  couldn't  make  him  as  angry  as  herself,  that 
she'd  have  to  quit  out;  go  away  for  weeks  at  a 
time  she  would,  to  friends  in  Dublin.  Then  poor 
Mickey  would  have  great  ease. 

As  far  as  she  was  concerned,  that  is,  for  he'd 
have  the  place  to  himself.  But  he  never  slackened 
on  the  work,  only  would  be  at  it,  early  and  late; 
so  much  so,  that  the  people  would  be  wondering 
why  he'd  bother  his  head  with  it  all. 

"And  he  'ithout  one  in  it,  only  himself!"  they'd 
cry;  "and  no  signs  of  he  to  be  looking  out  for  a 
wife,  either!  A  middling  stale  boy  poor  Mickey 
should  be,  at  this  present!" 

That  was  true  enough,  and  along  with  that,  he 
was  no  great  beauty,  to  look  at.  The  sister  was 
worse  again;  as  ugly  as  if  she  was  bespoke.  Still 
in  all,  she  never  gave  up  all  hopes  of  she  getting 
married.  But  that's  the  way  with  a-many  a  one, 
as  well  as  Julia  Heffeman. 

Well,  there  came  the  day  that  she  riz  a  shocking 
row  all  out  with  Mickey;  and  for  what,  neither 
man  nor  mortal  could  tell;  no,  nor  Julia  herself, 
let  alone  Mickey.  Off  with  her,  to  some  third  or 
fourth  cousin  of  theirs  in  England. 

"Luck's  a  king  and  Luck's  a  beggar!"  says  she; 


6  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"and  a  body  never  knows  whose  flure  it's  waiting 
on,  for  you!" 

"Sure  it's  leaving  it  behind  you,  maybe,  you 
are!  going  off  that-a-away  in  such  a  hurry!"  says 
Mickey. 

Not  but  what  he  was  praying  for  she  to  be  gone. 
But  he  knew  if  he  let  on  to  her  how  anxious  he  was 
to  get  shut  of  her,  the  sorra  toe  she'd  stir.  The 
same  as  if  you  were  driving  a  pig.  You  must  pull 
it  back,  if  you  want  it  to  go  on. 

"Leaving  it  behind  me,  indeed!"  says  she; 
"no,  but  it's  hardship  and  a  dog's  life  I'm  leaving! 
I've  stopped  here  long  enough,  slaving  the  skin 
off  me  bones  for  ye!"  says  she. 

So  Mickey  said  no  more,  only  drove  her  off  him- 
self on  the  side-car  to  the  train,  with  her  box ;  and 
when  she  was  gone,  "A  good  riddance  of  bad  rub- 
bish!" said  Mickey  to  himself;  and  was  getting  up 
on  the  car  again,  when  he  perceived  on  the  plat- 
form, as  if  he  was  after  getting  off  the  train,  a 
young  boy,  a  sort  of  a  cousin  of  his  own,  by  the 
name  of  Art  Heffeman. 

They  passed  the  time  of  day,  of  course,  and 
then  had  some  further  discourse,  and  it  appeared 
that  Art  was  out  of  a  job.  He  had  no  means,  no, 
nor  a  home ;  not  one  belonging  to  him  any  nearer 


The  Furry  Farm  7 

nor  Mickey.  All  his  people  were  either  gone  to 
America,  or  to  the  old  churchyard  of  Clough-na- 
Rinka,  he  said. 

So  Mickey  then  preffered  him  the  chance  of 
coming  back  with  him  to  the  Ftirry  Farm  for  a  bit, 
till  he'd  have  time  to  look  about  him. 

"I  don't  mind  if  I  do,"  says  Art;  "but  if  I  stop 
awhile  and  work  about  the  place,  what  wiU  you  do 
for  me  in  the  way  of  payment?  " 

"Duck's  wages;  the  nm  of  your  bill,"  says 
Mickey. 

"Throw  in  a  shuit  of  clothes  and  a  pair  of 
brogues,  twice  a  year;  and  the  grass  of  the  little 
heifer  I  have, "  says  Art,  "and  I  don't  mind  trying 
how  we'll  get  on  for  a  bit. " 

Mickey  agreed  to  that.  He  was  at  a  short  at 
that  time,  with  Julia  gone  off,  and  no  one  likely 
at  hand  to  do  the  work  about  the  house,  let  alone 
the  farm.  And  Art  was  well  worthy  of  what  he  got. 
He  was  a  smart,  wilHng  boy ;  able  and  ready  to  put 
his  hand  to  whatever  was  required  to  be  done  about 
the  whole  place.  And  Mickey  was  contented  with 
him.  By  this  plan,  he  hadn't  to  pay  out  money  in 
wages;  a  thing  he  never  had  any  wish  for  was,  to 
part  money. 

It  all  went  on  very  well.     Art  worked  early  and 


8  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

late,  and  was  always  agreeable  and  civil-spoken; 
so  that  the  two  of  them,  Heffemans  both,  appeared 
always  to  be  the  best  of  friends.  And  the  people 
began  saying  among  themselves,  that  Art  was  as 
apt  as  not  to  be  coming  in  on  the  Furry  Farm,  when 
the  present  man  woiild  be  done  with  it.  That 
would  be  natural  enough.  But  the  thing  turned 
out  very  different,  in  the  heel  of  the  hunt,  from 
what  any  one  was  laying  out  then  about  the 
Heffemans. 

There  chanced  to  be  a  poor  widow  woman  living 
in  a  little  bit  of  a  house  that  was  edged  in  upon  the 
Furry  Farm.  She  paid  some  small  trifle  of  rent 
to  Mickey  for  it  and  a  garden  there  was  to  it.  She 
had  no  one  in  this  living  world  in  it  only  herself 
and  a  young  slip  of  a  girl,  a  daughter  of  hers. 

In  a  case  of  the  kind,  you'll  mostly  always  find 
there  will  be  some  one  or  other  ready  to  do  the  lone 
woman  a  good  turn,  such  as  the  lend  of  a  hand  in 
the  getting  of  the  ttirf ,  and  the  planting  of  the 
potatoes,  and  so  and  so  on.  And  Heffeman  that 
was  always  counted  to  be  a  good  enough  neighbour, 
in  his  own  way,  would  say  to  Art  of  an  evening, 
"When  you  have  this,  that,  and  th'other  done 
.  .  .  the  pigs  fed,  and  the  horses  made  up  for  the 
night,  and  water  and  turf  left  into  the  kitchen. 


The  Furry  Farm  9 

you  may's  well  take  and  mosey  off  down  to  the 
Widdah  Rafferty's,  and  see  does  she  want  a  hand 
with  anything  there." 

"All  right!"  Art  would  cry,  he  being,  as  I  said, 
a  very  willing,  handy  boy,  ready  for  any  job  as 
soon  as  he'd  have  the  one  in  hand  completed.  So 
off  he'd  go;  and  Mickey  would  sit  down  in  the 
chimney-corner,  and  light  his  pipe,  and  swell  him- 
self out  with  the  satisfaction  of  thinking  how  that 
the  poor  widdah's  work  was  getting  done,  and  still 
he  to  be  at  no  loss  in  life  about  it. 

This  went  on  for  some  time,  till  Heffeman 
began  to  take  notice  how  that  Art  appeared  to 
be  getting  more  and  more  anxious  for  his  evening 
job. 

He  thought  this  over  for  a  while,  and  then  says 
he  to  Art:  "You're  in  a  tearing  hiury  to-night 
to  get  all  done,"  he  says ;  "and  to  be  off  from  about 
the  place, "  says  he ;  "I  doubt  did  you  take  time  to 
more  than  half  milk  them  cows ! "  he  says. 

"The  cows  is  right  enough!"  says  Art,  and  he 
scrubbing  away  at  himself  with  a  lump  of  yellow 
soap,  and  pumping  water  over  himself  till  you'd 
think  he  wanted  to  flood  the  yard. 

"And  Where's  the  sense  in  going  to  all  that 
nicety?"  says  Mickey,  "and  you  about  planting 


10  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

praties!  washing  your  hands  and  face,  no  less,  as 
if  it  was  a  Sundah  morning!" 

Art  got  very  red,  but  he  made  Mickey  no  answer, 
nor  never  did.  He  just  put  the  spade  on  his 
shoulder,  and  h-away  with  him  to  the  Widdah 
Rafferty's. 

When  he  came  back  that  night,  "I  dunno  in 
this  earthly  world  what  you  do  be  at,  at  all  at 
all,"  says  Mickey  to  him,  "but  it  appears  as  if 
your  whole  illemint  was  for  Rafferty's  and  spend- 
ing your  time  doing  the  work  there.  A  body  would 
think  that  the  girl  there  should  be  middling  sizeable 
and  strong  by  this,  and  able  to  do  her  share  of 
whatever  small  matter  of  business  they'd  have  in 
a  place  of  the  kind,  and  for  they  to  not  be  looking 
for  so  much  assistance.  It  was  another  thing  al- 
together, while  she  was  a  child!" 

Thinks  Art  to  himself,  "It  was,  so!"  and  out 
loud  says  he,  "I  never  do  go  in  it,  only  when  the 
day's  work  here  is  over. " 

This  vexed  Mickey ;  for  wasn't  it  as  much  as  to 
say,  up  to  his  face,  that  he  begrudged  the  widdah 
woman  what  Art  did  for  her;  whereas  he  had  no 
objections  in  life  to  it,  as  long  as  his  own  business 
wasn't  interfered  with.  There's  plenty  of  that 
kind  of  good-nature  in  the  world ;  the  same  as  the 


The  Furry  Farm  ii 

way  people  have  of  giving  away  things  they  can't 
use  themselves,  and  then  they  expect  great  praise 
for  doing  what  costs  them  nothing.  But  sure, 
you  mightn't  expect  too  much  from  the  likes  of 
Heffernan. 

He  said  no  more  then,  only  the  very  next  evening 
a  while  after  Art  had  quit  off  to  Rafferty's  didn't 
Mickey  make  up  his  mind  to  take  a  waddle  off 
there  himself,  and  see  what  was  going  on. 

"An'  a  fine  evening  it  is,  too,"  he  says  to  himself, 
quite  cheerful-like;  "and  the  ground  in  the  finest 
of  order  for  getting  in  the  spuds. "  * 

For  it  was  one  of  those  long,  clear  spring's  days, 
when  the  birds  are  just  beginning  to  ttine  up,  and 
you  can  imagine  to  see  a  growth  in  the  grass,  and 
a  change  taking  place  upon  the  trees  and  hedges, 
as  if  some  one  was  hanging  veils  of  purple  and  green 
between  you  and  them.  But  the  sorra  leaf  is  out 
on  them  yet!  There's  nothing  to  be  seen  only 
bare  branches,  and  the  sting  of  winter  is  in  the 
wind  still.  The  days  does  be  long  and  bright, 
so  much  so  that  a  body  is  apt  to  imagine  that  the 
hard  weather  is  all  gone  away,  and  that  there's  to 
be  nothing  only  what's  warm  and  pleasant  from 
that  out.     And  still  in  all,  it's  the  lonesomest  time, 

*  Potatoes. 


12  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

and  the  time  you'll  fret  the  most,  of  the  whole  year. 

Heffeman  had  none  of  these  things  in  his  mind, 
and  he  making  his  way  along  to  the  Widdah 
Rafferty's;  only  planning  he  was  how  to  get  up 
a-nigh  it,  without  he  to  be  seen  himself. 

It  was  along  a  bit  of  a  boreen^  the  house  was; 
and  as  Mickey  came  within  sight  of  it,  "I  see  no 
signs  of  work  to  be  doing  presently  in  this  garden ! " 
says  he,  and  he  craning  his  neck,  and  making  him- 
self as  small  as  he  could.  And  what  he  was  after 
saying  was  true  enough.  You  could  just  take 
notice  of  Art's  spade,  stuck  up  straight  in  a  half- 
dug  furrow.  But  sight  nor  light  of  man  nor  mortal 
there  wasn't  to  be  seen  in  the  garden  that  Art 
was  supposed  to  be  planting. 

On  steps  Heffeman;  and  now  he  begins  to  hear 
the  pleasant  little  hum-hum  of  a  spinning-wheel. 
The  soimd  of  it  inside  must  have  deadened  the 
noise  of  his  brogues  and  he  going  along  the  rough 
boreen,  so  as  that  he  was  enabled  to  get  up  close 
to  the  house  annonst-like,  and  have  a  peep  at  what 
was  going  on  there,  without  any  one  knowing  he 
was  in  it  at  all. 

Well,  he  looked  in,  and  troth,  there  was  no  delay 
on  him  to  do  so.     He  mightn't  have  been   so 

» Lane- way. 


The  Furry  Farm  13 

cautious.  For  the  people  inside  were  too  much 
taken  up  with  themselves  and  their  own  goings-on 
to  think  of  looking  round  for  any  one  else. 

There  was  the  Widdah  Rafferty,  sitting  in  the 
chimney-comer  at  her  wheel;  but  the  sorra  much 
spinning  she  was  doing,  with  the  way  Art  had  her 
laughing,  going  on  with  his  antics,  himself  and  the 
daughter.  In  spite  of  all  the  hardship,  Mrs. 
Rafferty  was  a  very  contented  sort  of  a  person, 
never  going  to  meet  trouble,  as  the  saying  is. 
Laughing  at  Art  she  was,  and  her  daughter,  Rosy. 
The  two  of  them  were  sitting  on  a  form,  letting  on 
to  be  very  hard  at  work,  cutting  the  seed  potatoes, 
and  they  with  a  kish  ^  upon  the  floor  f oreninst  them, 
to  throw  the  seed  into,  according  as  they'd  have 
it  ready. 

"  That's  never  Rosy  Rafferty ! "  thinks  Heffeman 
to  himself.  Mickey,  as  you  know,  was  never  one 
to  be  having  much  discourse  with  the  neighbours, 
beyond  that  he'd  just  pass  the  time  of  day  with 
them.  And  that's  how  he  had  never  chanced  to 
see  the  girl,  no  more  than  that  he  might  meet  her 
now  and  then,  going  along  the  road,  with  her  shawl 
over  her  head,  and  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  and  she 
with  the  mother,  on  their  way  to  Mass.     Poor  and 

'  Basket. 


14  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

all  as  the  Widdah  Rafferty  was,  she  made  a  shift 
someways  or  other  to  rear  this  one  child  of  hers 
very  nice  and  tender.  She'd  never  agree  to  let  her 
go  off  to  dances  at  the  cross-roads,  or  the  like  of 
that,  without  she  could  be  with  her,  herself.  And 
in  troth,  Rosy  Rafferty  was  as  beautiful  a  young 
creature  as  ever  the  sun  shone  down  upon;  with 
cheeks  like  hedge  roses,  and  a  pair  of  big,  soft  eyes 
that  you'd  think  .  .  .  well,  in  fact,  it  would  be  a 
thing  impossible  to  put  down  upon  paper  what 
such  a  girl  looks  like.  Every  eye  forms  a  beauty 
for  itself.  What  deHghts  me,  you  wouldn't  maybe 
give  a  thraneen  ^  for.  But  it  was  given  up  to  Rosy 
that  there  wasn't  the  peel  of  her  in  all  Ardenoo,  in 
the  regard  of  looks,  and  along  with  that,  she  was  as 
shy  as  a  fiUy,  and  as  sweet  as  a  little  bird. 

To  Mickey  Heffeman  in  especial,  that  had  never 
passed  much  remarks  about  any  girl,  it  appeared 
something  altogether  strange  and  new,  to  see  the 
bright  little  face  of  her,  shining  there  in  the  dim, 
smoky  cabin,  like  a  lovely  poppy  among  the  weeds 
of  a  potato-patch. 

"Mind  yer  eye!"  she  was  saying  to  Art,  "or 
you'll  cut  the  hand  off  of  yourself!" 

"Which  eye?"  says  Art,  and  he  with  his  own 

»Stem  of  grass. 


The  Furry  Farm  15 

two  eyes  turned  full  upon  Rosy;  and,  in  troth, 
what  a  fool  he'd  be  to  have  them  anywhere  else; 
"which  eye  do  ye  mane?  Is  it  the  eye  in  me  head, 
or  the  eye  in  me  hand  I'm  to  mind?  "  Meaning,  of 
course,  the  bud  of  the  potato  he  was  after  cutting. 
"Och,  begorra!  there's  the  knife  after  slipping  on 
me.   .    .    .    " 

"There  now!"  says  Rosy,  "didn't  I  tell  you!" 
and  with  that  she  turns  gashly  pale,  at  the  sight 
of  the  blood.  So  it  was  the  mother  that  had  to  see 
to  Art's  wound.  She  stopped  the  wheel,  and  came 
over  to  look  at  it. 

"Phoo!  what  at  all!"  she  says;  "sure,  that's 
a  thing  of  nothing!  It  will  be  well  afore  you're 
twice  marrit!" 

"I  dunno  about  that!"  says  Art,  not  wanting 
to  be  done  out  of  Rosy's  commiseration;  "there's 
an  imminse  pain  in  it  at  this  present. " 

"Think  as  little  of  that  as  I  do,  and  there  won't 
be  a  bother  on  ye ! "  says  the  Widdah ;  ' '  and  what's 
this  you're  after  giving  me  to  bandage  it  with, 
Rosy?  Sure  it's  not  your  good  silk  hankercher 
that  I  bought  for  you,  off  of  Tommy  the  Crab, 
only  last  Easter  was  a  twelvemonth !  Pshat !  girl 
dear,  won't  any  old  polthogue  do  well  enough  for 
that  cut  thumb  of  Art's!" 


1 6  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

At  this  word,  Rosy  whips  the  purty  little  scarf 
into  her  pocket,  and  she  with  cheeks  upon  her  as 
red  as  scarlet.  Well!  to  see  the  look  Art  gave  her! 
If  Rosy  was  a  Queen,  and  she  after  offering  to 
bestow  her  crown  upon  him,  he  couldn't  have  ap- 
peared more  thankful  and  delighted.  And  sure, 
may  be  after  all,  a  Queen  would  have  one  crown 
for  using  every  day,  and  a  good  one  laid  by  for 
Sundays  as  well ;  whereas,  all  the  neckerchers  that 
Rosy  had  in  this  wide  world  was  just  that  pink 
one  the  mother  had  bought  her  out  of  Tommy  the 
Crab's  basket. 

Well,  that  all  passed  off,  and  when  the  mother 
was  back  at  her  wheel,  and  Rosy  beginning  on  the 
praties  again,  says  she  to  Art,  Rosy  I  mean,  "You'll 
cut  no  more  seed  here  to-night,"  she  says,  "and 
you  may's  well  be  making  the  road  back  to  Heffer- 
nan's  short  now  as  you're  no  more  use  here, "  says 
she. 

"Is  'that  all  you  want  wid  me?"  says  Art; 
"if  so,  it's  as  good  for  me  to  be  off  at  wanst, 
as  to  be  staying  here,  and  wearing  out  me 
welcome!" 

"What  a  hurry  you're  in!"  says  Rosy  then  to 
him,  and  she  looking  up  at  him  with  a  laugh  in  her 
eyes  that  would  coax  the  birds  off  of  the  bushes; 


The  Furry  Farm  17 

"but  sure  maybe  it's  what  you'd  liefer,  to  be  back 
with  Mr.  Heffernan  bey  ant.    ..." 

"Is  it  him?"  says  Art;  "troth,  it's  him  that's 
the  quare  ould  company  to  spend  an  evening  wid ! 
and  no  more  diversion  in  him,  nor  there's  fur  on 
a  frog .    .    .    . " 

Art  was  at  this  time  picking  the  praties  out  of 
the  sack,  and  handing  them  to  Rosy  according  as 
she'd  be  ready  to  cut  them.  And  this  was  to  help 
on  with  the  work,  by  the  way  of;  but  every  time 
he  done  that,  wouldn't  he  double  his  big  fist  over 
her  little  fingers  and  hold  them  tight,  the  way  he'd 
get  her  to  look  up  at  him;  and  then  they'd  both 
take  to  go  laugh. 

"  Look  at  that,  for  a  Murphy ! "  says  Art,  holding 
up  a  big  potato ;  queer  and  lumpy  and  long-shaped 
it  was;  "isn't  that  the  very  livin'  image  of  ould 
Mickey  himself!  See  here;  the  big  nose  .  .  . 
and  the  weeny  slit  eyes,  like  pig's  eyes  .  .  .  and 
the  mouth,  like  nothing  so  much  as  a  biirst  slipper 
.    .    .  "  and  that  was  all  true  enough. 

"You'll  see  likenesses  that-a-way  often,"  says 
the  Widdah  Rafferty,  checking  the  wheel  to  join 
in  the  chat;  " I  remimber  to  see  a  head  of  cabbage 
wanst,  flat  Dutch  it  was,  and  it  as  like  ould  Father 
Mulhall  as  could  be,  the  heavens  be  his  bed,  I 


i8  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

pray !  very  round-about  and  fat  in  the  body  he  was. 
And  that  kittle  there,  hasn't  it  the  very  appearance 
upon  it  of  ould  Tommy  the  Crab?  wid  the  quare 
pintey  Httle  nose  of  him?  And  that  puts  me  in 
mind  .  .  .  it's  time  to  be  wettin'  the  sup  of  tay. 
Off  to  the  well  wid  the  two  of  yiz .    .    .    ." 

Heffernan  outside  the  door  heard  this,  and 
waited  for  no  more,  only  slipped  off,  quiet  and 
easy,  afore  any  of  them  had  put  a  stir  upon  them- 
selves. And  that  gave  him  no  trouble;  for  Art 
and  Rosy  were  that  taken  up  with  one  another,  that 
the  Widdah  had  to  chastise  them  more  than  once, 
afore  she  could  get  them  to  go.  So  Heffernan  was 
able  to  quit,  without  being  seen  by  any  of  them. 

He  had  heard  all  he  wanted ;  ay,  and  more  than 
he  liked !  But  divil's  cure  to  him !  what  call  had  he 
to  take  and  go  listen  to  what  wasn't  meant  for 
him !  He  was  all  in  a  flutter  and  he  going  off  home 
with  himself.  He  didn't  like  being  made  fun  of; 
and  faith!  there's  few  of  us  does!  But  that  was 
the  least  part  of  what  was  working  in  his  mind,  like 
the  wind  on  a  field  of  ripe  oats,  twisting  and  turning 
it  hither  and  over.  And  the  storm  that  was  stir- 
ring Heffeman's  thoughts  was,  the  look  of  Rosy 
and  she  sitting  there  smiling  up  at  Art.  That 
was  what  had  him  upset. 


The  Furry  Farm  19 

Young  boys  and  girls  are  a  bit  too  ready  to  for- 
get that  a  man's  courting  days  doesn't  be  always 
over,  when  the  grey  begins  to  show  in  his  beard. 
No,  in  troth !  and  so  by  Heffeman.  There  was  a 
warm  stir  about  his  heart  and  he  stepping  along 
up  the  boreen,  back  to  his  own  place,  and  a  feel 
like  the  spring  sunshine  came  over  him,  and  he 
tried  to  sing  a  bit  of  "The  Bunch  of  Green  Rushes, " 
but  sure  he  hadn't  it  right,  nor  couldn't  remember 
it,  he  hadn't  heard  it  those  years  past. 

When  he  got  back  to  his  own  place,  what  should 
he  do,  only  root  out  a  little  cracked  looking-glass 
that  had  been  thrown  by  since  God  knows  when! 
He  took  it  down  off  of  the  top  of  the  dresser,  and 
he  rubbed  the  dust  from  it  with  the  sleeve  of  his 
old  coat,  and  then  he  went  over  to  the  door  with  it 
in  his  hand,  to  get  the  last  of  the  daylight  on  it, 
the  way  he'd  see  did  he  look  as  old  all  out  as  he 
knew  himself  that  he  was. 

WeU,  what  he  seen  there  was  no  ways  encour- 
aging; so  he  flings  the  glass  back  again,  and  goes 
over  to  the  chimney-comer,  and  sits  down.  It 
was  just  the  end  of  the  day,  as  I  said;  the  light 
was  beginning  to  fail,  and  still  there  was  too  much 
of  it  for  him  to  want  to  shut  up  the  house  or  go 
light  a  candle,  or  that.     And  it  was  too  cold  for 


20  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

a  body  to  care  for  being  outside,  unless  they  had 
some  business  to  attend  to. 

So  Mickey  just  sat  there,  with  no  one  only 
himself,  in  the  dusky  kitchen;  and  all  the  cheer- 
fulness he  thought  to  see  before  was  gone.  The 
place  seemed  to  him  to  have  a  desolate  appearance 
upon  it,  that  he  had  never  noticed  before.  But  the 
sorra  change  was  on  it,  no  more  than  the  night 
will  have  got  any  darker  really,  when  you  go  out 
into  it  after  you  being  for  a  while  in  a  room  that 
was  full  up  of  light.  It  was  himself  that  was 
different,  after  seeing  into  Rafferty's,  where  the 
fire  was  small  enough,  God  knows !  but  the  hearth 
was  swep'  up  tidy  and  nice.  The  table  was  old 
and  shaky  there,  but  it  was  scoured  as  white  as 
the  snow.  And  the  wheel  was  singing  its  own  little 
song  of  cheerful  work,  and  there  was  talk  and 
laughing  going  on ;  and,  above  all,  the  gay  shining 
little  head  of  Rosy,  that  lit  it  up,  like  a  bit  of  sun- 
shine come  down  out  of  the  skies.  Whereas 
Heffeman's  kitchen  was  all  through-other,  just 
as  they  had  got  up  after  their  dinners  .  .  . 
plates  and  pots  and  praty-skins  all  lying  hither  and 
over.  The  fire  was  nigh-hand  out,  and  it  all  as 
silent  as  the  grave. 

"And  not  a  sod  of  turf  left  in!"  says  Heffeman 


The  Furry  Farm  21 

to  himself ;  "that's  a  nice  way  for  Art  to  be  leaving 
the  place,  and  he  ped  to  mind  it!" 

Out  with  him  to  the  clamp,  to  get  an  armful  of 
turf;  and  didn't  the  two  pigs  meet  him  full,  and 
they  coming  back  from  the  garden,  after  they 
rooting  there  to  their  heart's  content. 

"There's  more  of  it,  now!"  he  thinks  to  himself; 
"and  a  nice  job  I'll  have  of  it,  striving  to  get  them 
back  to  their  sty !  Bad  scran  to  Art !  I  never  seen 
such  work!  Cock  him  up,  indeed!  going  off  to 
his  randy-voos,  instead  of  minding  his  business!" 

But  it  was  really  himself  that  Mickey  ought  to 
have  blamed  in  regard  to  the  pigs,  with  his  fidget- 
ing about  and  not  fastening  the  door  of  the  pigsty 
right,  that  had  a  loose  hinge  and  required  htmiour- 
ing,  and  had  a  right  to  be  mended,  along  with  all. 
But  to  the  day  of  his  death,  Heffeman  blamed 
them  pigs  on  Art.  And,  stiU,  he  never  let  on  a 
word  to  him  of  what  was  after  happening  about 
them.  He  was  too  angry,  besides  having  a  slow 
tongue.  It  was  only  in  to  himself  he'd  talk  and 
argue. 

"I  wondher,  now,  what  else  Art  neglected  here, " 
he  thought,  "  to  make  off  wid  himself  to  Rafferty's ! 
How  anshis  he  is,  about  the  Widdah's  work'  In 
troth,  it's  kissin'  the  child  for  the  sake  of  the  nurse 


22  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

he  is!  Coortin',  are  ye?  Maybe  there'll  be  more 
nor  one  word  to  be  said  about  that!  I  might 
manage  to  clip  yer  wings  for  ye,  me  boyo,  as  sure  as 
there's  a  leg  in  a  pot !  And  of  all  the  chat  he  was 
having  out  of  him  .  .  .  !  But  sure  Art  could 
talk  down  a  hedgeful  of  sparrows,  anny  day  of  the 
year!" 

There's  the  way  he  kept  thinking  over  the  thing, 
and  there's  how  he  began  first  having  a  bad  suspi- 
cion of  Art,  that  the  poor  boy  never  earned.  But 
just  because  he  never  spoke  of  what  was  in  his 
mind,  it  kept  rolling  over  and  over  there,  till  there 
was  nothing  so  bad  but  what  he  thought  Art  was 
capable  of  it. 

Art  never  minded.  Heffernan  was  always  a  bit 
dark  in  himself.  So  Art  never  got  the  chance  of 
saying  a  word  for  himself,  nor  knew  he  was  being 
watched  and  blamed  and  he  going  on  the  one  way, 
off  wid  himself  every  evening  to  Rafferty's,  and 
would  come  back  that  happy  and  smiling  that 
Mickey  would  be  madder  nor  a  wet  hen,  looking  at 
him. 

So  there's  the  way  it  went  on  with  the  two  of 
them;  Heffernan  sour  and  silent  and  miserable  in 
himself;  and  Art  no- ways  put  about,  only  quite 
gay  and  satisfied  from  morning  till  night. 


The  Furry  Farm  23 

At  last  Heffeman  made  up  his  mind  what  he'd 
do.  There  came  an  evening  ...  a  summer's 
evening  it  was,  more  betoken  .  .  .  and  when  Art 
walked  into  Rafferty's  as  usual,  he  found  Rosy- 
drowned  in  grief,  and  she  crying  down  the  tears 
as  if  she  was  after  losing  all  belonging  to  her. 

"  Ora,  what's  a  trouble  to  ye,  Rosheen  acushla!" 
says  Art ;  but  it  was  a  while  afore  he  could  get  an 
answer  out  of  her  she  was  that  fretted  and  put 
about.  But  at  long  last  she  told  him.  Mr. 
Heffernan,  she  said,  that  was  wanting  to  marry 
her. 

"What ! "  says  Art,  bursting  out  into  a  big  laugh ; 
"ould  Heffernan  to  think  to  marry  you!  he  that 
might  be  your  father!  ay,  or  your  grandfather  to 
the  back  of  that,  ready!" 

But  Art  was  wrong  about  that.  Heffeman 
wasn't  that  far  on  at  all. 

"That's  a  nice  joke  to  be  putting  out  upon  a 
body!"  he  says,  "for  of  coorse  it's  only  non- 
sense ..."  and  he  looks  hard  at  her;  "say 
it's  only  joking  y'are.  Rosy!" 

"The  sorra  joke!"  says  poor  Rosy,  and  she 
looking  at  him  most  pitiful,  and  her  cheeks  and 
eyes  wet  with  the  tears;  so  much  so  that  Art 
thought  well  of  doing  his  best  to  dry  them  for  her; 


24  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

and  Rosy  went  on,  "He  was  down  here  this  morn- 
ing, talking  to  me  mother  ..." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  sure,  what  was  I  to  do,  only  say  that  I 
wouldn't  agree  to  him;  and  then  he  got  vexed, 
and  says  he  to  me  mother,  *  Go  off, '  he  says,  '  to 
Father  Connellan,  and  let  him  at  her,  to  see  to 
bring  her  to  raison!'  And  och!  Art,  jewel,  what 
will  I  do,  at  all  at  all!" 

"Sure,  never  heed  them!"  says  Art,  very  stout. 

"That's  all  very  fine!  but  they'll  all  be  agin 
me !  Too  sure  I  am  that  Father  Connellan  will  be 
for  Mickey,  on  account  of  the  good  wedding  .  .  . 
all  the  money  he  has!  And  he  has  promised  me 
mother  to  bring  her  to  the  Furry  Farm,  as  well  as 
me,  and  to  give  her  every  comfort.  He  says  he's 
after  getting  word  of  some  one  that  is  going  to 
marry  his  sister  beyant  there  in  England.  So 
then,  there  wouldn't  be  Julia  on  the  flure,  to  con- 
tind  wid.  And  me  mother  is  to  have  a  side-car 
to  drive  to  Mass  of  a  Sundah;  and  a  slip  of  a 
sarvint-girl  to  be  ordhering  about,  and  every 
comfort,  if  only  I'll  agree  to  take  him.  And  of 
coorse  she's  getting  middling  ould  and  wakely  in 
herself   ...  so  there  it  is  now!" 

"Well,    don't   you   cry   any   more,   annyhow, 


The  Furry  Farm  25 

Rosy!"  says  Art;  " look-at-here,  if  he  wants  a 
wife  so  terrible  bad,  and  is  so  anshis  to  have  your 
mother  at  the  Furry  Farm,  why  wouldn't  he  take 
her  there,  and  Tave  the  two  of  us  in  p'ace  and 
qui'tness?" 

"That's  only  foolishness!"  says  Rosy. 

Still,  the  notion  started  her  off  to  laugh,  and 
that  was  what  Art  wanted.  But  sure,  when  people 
is  young,  it's  easy  diverting  their  minds  from  what- 
ever has  them  annoyed.  So  Rosy  and  Art  began 
talking  and  going  on,  and  before  very  long  they  had 
clean  forgotten  old  Heffernan  and  everything  else, 
only  theirselves. 

That  was  all  well  enough,  for  that  turn.  But 
soon  it  became  well  known  to  them  both,  that  it 
was  apt  to  turn  out  no  laughing  matter  for  them. 
For,  as  Rosy  had  said,  they  were  all  against  Art 
and  for  Heffernan.  And  the  mother,  in  particular, 
gave  Rosy  neither  ease  nor  rest,  morning,  noon, 
and  night,  only  fighting  the  girl  to  take  a  man  that, 
as  she  said,  had  a  good  means,  and  could  keep  her 
like  a  Princess. 

A  woman  like  the  Widdah  Rafferty  is  not  to  be 
blamed  for  doing  the  like  of  that.  She  couldn't 
but  be  a  bit  cowardly  in  herself,  and  she  left  the 
way  she  was,  without  one  to  come  between  her  and 


26  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

the  world.  Gay  and  pleasant  as  she  was  mostly, 
she  knew  enough  of  hardship  to  think  a  power  of 
the  offer  Heffeman  was  after  making,  saying  he 
would  do  for  her  as  well  as  for  Rosy.  And  the 
thoughts  of  the  Furry  Farm!  All  the  stock  upon 
it,  and  the  kitchen  with  full  and  plenty  in  it; 
sides  of  bacon,  and  lashins  and  lavins  of  milk  and 
turf  and  praties  and  meal  ,  .  .  well,  sure  she 
couldn't  but  be  tempted  with  all  that,  for  herself  as 
well  as  for  Rosy.  Indeed  she  was  of  the  opinion 
that  she  was  doing  the  best  she  could  for  her  child, 
as  often  as  she'd  begin  argufying  with  her;  abusing 
poor  Art,  and  puffing  up  Heffeman. 

But  all  she  done  by  that  was,  to  make  poor  Rosy 
fret;  and  what  else  did  she  expect? 

Through  it,  not  a  word  ever  passed  between  the 
two  men  upon  the  business.  Heffeman,  as  I  said, 
was  always  a  good  warrant  to  hold  his  tongue. 
He  thought  now  he  had  the  thing  so  sure  that  he 
need  only  wait  a  bit.  He  knew  how  poor  the 
Raffertys  were.  He  didn't  want  any  upset  or 
unpleasantness  with  Art,  that  maybe  the  boy 
would  take  and  quit  off,  and  leave  him  there  wid 
himself,  and  not  as  much  as  one  about  the  place 
to  do  a  hand's  turn  there. 

Heffeman  was  a  slow-going  sort  of  a  man.    The 


The  Furry  Farm  27 

people  all  had  it  that  he  was  a  bit  thick.  But, 
anyway,  he  knew  well  enough  what  he  was  able  for, 
and  what  he  ought  to  let  alone.  He  had  no  wish 
in  life  for  getting  shut  of  Art,  till  he'd  have  some 
one  in  his  place,  in  on  the  ways  of  the  Furry  Farm. 
And  he  wanted  to  make  sure  of  Rosy  and  the 
mother  there,  afore  his  own  sister  would  be  maybe 
hearing  about  it,  and  he  knew  her  to  be  that  con- 
thrary,  that  he  wouldn't  put  it  past  her  to  come  off 
home  at  once,  to  spoil  all  his  plans.  He  scarce 
ever  heard  a  word  from  her,  only  there  was  a  sketch 
going  round  Ardenoo  of  some  talk  of  a  match  being 
made  for  her,  what  Rosy  had  mentioned  to  Art. 
Mickey  was  beginning  to  have  good  hopes  out  of 
that,  thinking  she  might  get  some  man  to  marry 
her  there  that  wouldn't  know  the  differ.  So  he  was 
doing  his  endeavours  to  hurry  the  thing  up  with 
Rosy,  or  at  least  with  the  mother;  and  sorra  word 
out  of  his  head  to  Art ;  and  Art  the  same  with  him. 
But  Art  would  be  nigh-hand  mad  betimes,  with 
the  way  old  Heffeman  would  look  at  him,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "I  have  ye  now,  me  boyo!"  But  he 
never  axed  to  pass  any  remarks,  good  or  bad. 
Why  would  he?  He  was  sure  of  Rosy,  so  there 
would  be  neither  use  nor  sense  in  having  words  with 
Mickey,  that  could  do  you  a  bad  turn,  as  soon  as 


28  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

look  at  you.  And  Art  then  took  the  notion  that 
the  Widdah  Rafferty  wasn't  all  out  as  agreeable 
and  pleasant-spoken  to  him  as  she  had  a  right  to 
be;  not  that  she  was  to  be  blemt  in  that!  So  he 
and  Rosy  took  to  meeting  with  one  another  outside 
the  house;  at  the  well,  maybe,  or  gathering  sprigs 
for  the  fire,  or  the  like  of  that ;  and  it  wasn't  their 
fault  if  they  did  it  secretly. 

It  was  in  this  way  that  Rosy  was  coming  from 
the  Chapel  one  evening,  when  Art  met  up  with  her, 
by  the  purest  of  accidents,  of  course.  They  had 
plenty  to  talk  about,  as  is  always  the  way  with  the 
likes  of  them.  And  if  it  was  mostly  about  them- 
selves, sure,  that's  what  most  of  us  finds  very 
interesting  and  agreeable. 

"I'm  in  dread,"  says  Rosy,  "this  while  back, 
that  it's  what  Mr.  Heffeman  has  some  iday  of 
coming  at  me  mother  soon  now  for  the  rent  .    .    .  " 

"Sure,  what's  that,  only  a  flea-bite!"  says  Art. 

"Ah,  but  isn't  there  four  years  owing?  and  how 
is  that  going  to  be  ped?  imless  we  can  get  to  pacify 
him  someways.  And  we  behindhand  at  the  Shop 
.  .  .  and  do  you  mind  how  the  young  turkeys  died 
'on'  us  last  year?  and  that  has  left  us  very  short 
ever  since.  And  now  the  praties  isn't  looking  any 
too  well  ..." 


The  Furry  Farm  29 

"  In  spite  of  you  telling  me  to  mind  me  eye,  and 
we  cutting  the  seed!"  says  Art;  and  then  the 
both  of  them  had  to  laugh,  thinking  how  simple  he 
near  cut  the  thumb  off  of  himself  that  evening. 
It's  a  small  thing  will  amuse  a  boy  and  girl  like 
Rosy  and  Art,  God  knows  they'll  have  whips  to 
fret  and  worry  over,  before  their  day  is  done  here! 
So  why  woiildn't  they  laugh  as  long  as  they  can? 

Well,  and  so  Art  would  laugh  right  enough  while 
he'd  be  in  company  with  Rosy.  But  all  the  whole 
time  he'd  keep  thinking  and  planning;  and  when 
the  next  fair-day  of  Clough-na-Rinka  came  round, 
and  he  had  to  be  up  and  off  before  daylight  with 
stock  of  Heffernan's  to  sell  there,  didn't  he  bring 
his  own  bullock  amongst  them!  Grass  for  him 
was  in  Art's  agreement  with  Mickey,  and  I  needn't 
say  that  that  animal  hadn't  the  worst  spot  of  the 
farm,  neither  was  there  any  fear  of  he  to  be  over- 
looked at  foddering-time,  as  long  as  there  was  a 
wad  of  hay  left.  But  siu-e  that's  only  htunan 
nature,  to  look  after  your  own.  No  matter  how 
kind  you  are  to  others,  you'll  always  have  the  most 
heart  for  yourself. 

Art's  bullock  was  that  fine  a  beast,  that  he  was 
sold  at  top  price,  and  the  money  was  in  Art's 
pocket,  long  before  Mickey  Heffernan  came  bowl- 


30  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

ing  up  to  the  fair-green,  on  the  side-car,  in  time  for 
the  regular  business  of  the  day.  And  how  he  got 
on  there,  and  what  price  he  got  for  his  stores, 
is  neither  here  nor  there  now.  Art  passed  no 
remarks  to  him  in  regard  to  his  own  sale;  sure, 
why  would  he?  And  as  soon  as  he  had  done 
with  Hefiernan's  cattle,  he  slipped  off  with  him- 
self, and  Mickey  went  home  without  seeing  him 
again. 

The  next  morning,  when  Heffernan  went  to  go 
to  get  up,  behould  ye!  sight  nor  light  of  Art  there 
wasn't  to  be  got  about  the  whole  town. 

"And  it's  too  sure  I  am,"  thinks  Mickey  to 
himself,  "that  he  wasn't  in  till  late,  whatever 
divilmint  he  was  at!  for  I'd  have  heard  him,  up 
to  nine  o'clock,  annyway!  Nice  conduction  it  is 
for  he  to  be  having,  stopping  out  that-a-way,  and 
neglecting  his  business,  that  he's  ped  to  do  here 
for  me!  And  now,  where  at  all  should  he  be,  and 
isn't  here  seeing  about  things  this  morning,  only 
leaving  all  to  me!  But  I'll  not  fau't  him;  sure  it's 
not  long  he'll  be  in  it.  I  can  bid  him  to  go,  in 
another  little  while,  anny  day  I  like!  Only,  where 
the  mischief  is  he  now!  Maybe  it's  what  he's 
taking  to  go  to  Rafferty's,  airly  as  well  as  late. 
Sure  it's  only  losing  his  time  he  is,  and  making  a 


The  Furry  Farm  31 

laugh  of  himself  he  is  as  well ;  but  divil  mend  him ! 
standing  up  wid  impidence  he  is,  this  minute!" 

Off  with  Heffernan  then  to  Rafferty's,  without 
even  waiting  to  break  his  fast.  When  he  got  there, 
who  should  he  see,  only  Tommy  the  Crab,  airly 
and  all  as  it  was;  and  he  with  his  pack  upon  the 
ground  and  talking  away  to  the  Widdah  Rafferty. 

She  that  gave  the  lepp  when  she  seen  Heffernan ! 
the  same  as  if  she  was  half  afraid  of  he  hearing 
what  Tommy  had  to  say.  But  Mickey  never  said 
a  word,  only  made  a  kind  of  a  bow  of  the  head 
when  she  passed  him  the  time  of  day,  and  stood 
there. 

"Good  momin',  Mr.  Heffernan,"  says  Tommy, 
that  had  a  tongue  in  his  head  like  the  clapper  of  a 
bell;  "I  hope  I  see  you  as  well  as  I'd  wish  you 
and  all  belonging  to  ye !  and  that  you  may  never  be 
sick  till  I'm  doctor  enough  to  cure  ye!  and  that 
won't  happen,  till  you're  that  small,  that  you'll 
have  to  stand  up  upon  a  sod  of  turf,  to  look  into  a 
naggin !  Well,  sure,  you're  just  in  time  here  to  get 
the  news  that  I'm  about  telling  to  Mrs.  Rafferty. " 

Heffernan  never  said  one  word,  not  even  to  ax, 
"What  is  it?"  and  so  Tommy  goes  on,  "I  slep' 
out  last  night,  under  the  big  furzy  bush  there 
below  at  the  cross-roads,  bekase  I  was  a  bit  late 


32  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

and  I  coming  from  the  fair.  And  along  wid  all,  I 
had  no  great  command  of  meself,  after  me  day- 
there,  you  persave.  So,  as  I  was  a-loath  to  disturb 
any  dacint  house,  knocking  the  people  up  to  ax  a 
bed  from  them,  I  just  laid  meself  down  there, 
where  I  had  the  best  of  shelter.  Ay,  and  slep'  the 
best,  too,  till  this  morning,  bright  and  airly,  when 
I  wakened  hearing  voices.  And  what  should  it 
be,  only  young  Art,  from  beyant  at  your  place, 
Mr.  Heffernan,  and  little  Rosy  Rafferty,  and  they 
coming  along  the  road  to'arst  me!" 

"The  Lord  save  us!"  says  the  Widdah;  "sure 
it's  not  in  aimest  you  are!  and  I  having  it  laid 
out  that  it  was  what  she  was  just  a  piece  off  from 
me  in  the  fields,  and  she  gethering  a  few  sprigs 
for  kindling.    ..." 

"Well,  sure,  you  should  know!  and  maybe 
that's  what  she  was  at ;  and  that  Art  was  helping 
her.  I  couldn't  rightly  say.  Only,  if  they  were 
at  that,  they  must  have  changed  their  minds,  and 
have  left  the  sprigs  in  the  gaps  they  were  stopping 
.  .  .  "  and  as  he  said  the  word,  Heffeman  gave  a 
kind  of  a  snort,  for  there  was  nothing  he  had  more 
enmity  to,  than  the  fashion  women  does  have,  of 
pulling  the  bushes  out  of  holes  in  the  fences  that 
he'd  be  after  getting  filled  up.     The  weight  of  them 


The  Furry  Farm  33 

would  liefer  do  that,  nor  to  pick  up  what  little 
kindling-wood  they'd  want  off  the  ground,  and 
mostly  always  there's  plenty  lying  loose  to  their 
hand. 

Tommy  went  on  with  his  story,  and  a  smirk  on 
his  face  when  he  saw  the  way  he  had  Mickey 
annoyed  about  the  sprigs. 

"Ay  indeed!  Nobody  else  in  this  earthly 
world,  only  their  two  selves!  There  they  were, 
and  they  coming  along,  looking  half  proud  of 
themselves,  and  half  afraid;  and  their  eyes  round 
over  their  shoxilders  every  minute,  as  if  they  were 
afraid  of  some  one  coming  after  them.  And  the 
big  hurry  there  appeared  to  be  on  them ! 

"When  they  seen  me,  they  stopped  short. 

"'In  the  name  of  God,'  says  I  to  them,  'where 
are  yiz  off  to,  at  this  hour,*  says  I,  'and  the  stars 
not  out  of  the  sky  yet?' 

"Art  laughed,  but  Rosy  blushed  up. 

"'Oho!'  says  I,  'what  colour's  red?  and  is  this 
what  yiz  are  up  to?' 

"But  they  said  nothing,  only  Art  whips  a  whole 
big  handful  of  money  out  of  his  pocket  careless-like, 
as  if  it  was  just  that  much  dirt. 

"'What  have  you  there?'  says  he;  and  begins 
turning  over  every  ha'porth  in  the  pack  on  the 


34  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

groiind  beside  me,  the  mouth  of  it  being  open ;  and 
his  hands  shaking  as  if  he  was  all  of  a  thrimble ; 
and  Rosy  watching  him  with  her  eyes  dancing, 
and  still  not  asking  to  touch  annything  herself. 

"*I  have  all  soarts  here,'  says  I  to  him,  making 
answer,  'but  sure  it's  what  I'm  thinking  it  should 
some  kind  of  a  ring  yous  will  be  wanting  ...    * 

"'You  just  got  it!'  he  says;  'but  I  doubt  have 
you  one  good  enough  for  us  .  .  .ah!  there's  a 
nice  neckercher  .  .  .  we'll  take  that,  at  army 
rate  ...  do  you  remimber,  Rosy?  Is  this  as 
good  as  the  one  you  offered  to  tie  up  that  cut  of 
mine  .    .    .   ? '  and  they  both  laughed  out. 

"'I'd  wish  it  a  taste  brighter, '  he  says. 

"'Sure,  isn't  it  grand!'  says  she  .  .  .  'but 
Art!  look  at  them  for  pickthers!'  and  couldn't 
stop  herself,  only  taking  up  first  one  and  then 
another.   .    .    . 

'"Would  you  wish  e'er  a  one  of  them?'  he 
says. 

"'They'd  be  aisy  carrit, '  says  I;  'and  more 
betoken,  yous  wouldn't  be  getting  them  so  raison- 
able  as  I  can  sell  them,  from  them  that  has  shops 
and  rent  to  pay ....    * 

"'They'd  look  pleasant  and  homely,  annywhere 
we'd  be!'  says  Rosy. 


The  Furry  Farm  35 

"So  they  chose  out  a  half-dozen  or  so;  the 
Death  of  Lord  Edward;  and  Emmet  in  the  Dock, 
and  so  and  so  on;  and  they  bid  me  to  bring  this 
one  to  you,  and  I  was  to  say  how  that  they  were 
off  to  the  Big  Smoke'  to  have  the  wedding  there, 
at  your  sister's.    ..." 

"Ay,  she's  there  in  DubHn,  this  linth  of  time," 
says  the  Widdah,  quite  composed  now,  and  she 
smiUng  all  over  with  joy. 

For  there's  the  way  it  is  wid  women.  When 
they  get  a  daughter  marrit,  no  matter  to  who, 
they'll  be  that  proud,  the  weight  of  them,  that 
they  wouldn't  call  the  King  their  cousin.  And 
along  with  all,  of  course,  Art  Heffeman  was  known 
to  be  a  very  choice  boy,  only  for  he  being  poor. 
But,  as  it  was  often  said  at  Ardenoo,  why  need 
that  stop  him  in  the  getting  of  a  wife?  Why 
mightn't  he  as  well  be  a  poor  man  as  a  poor  boy? 

"And  to  think  of  them  sending  me  a  keepsake!" 
says  the  mother;  "dear,  but  that  pickther  is 
beautiful,  the  way  it's  drew  out!" 

"There's  a  crack  across  the  face  of  it,"  says 
Mickey;  and  there's  the  only  word  he  had  out  of 
them. 

"So  there  is!  and  I  never  to  observe  it  till  you 

» Dublin. 


36  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

spoke!"  says  the  Widdah,  and  she  looking  ready 
to  go  cry. 

"Sure  it  will  never  be  noticed!"  says  Tommy, 
"and  moreover,  I  took  a  pinny  off  of  the  price,  in 
compliment  to  that  little  defect,"  and  I'm  not 
saying  but  he  did.  "Here!"  says  Tommy,  "I'll 
give  you  a  nail  into  the  bargain  to  hang  it  up  by ; 
and  there's  a  brave  lump  of  a  stone,  to  drive  it  in, 
and  make  it  all  safe  upon  the  wall.  Where  will 
you  wish  to  have  it,  mam?" 

"Here,  where  I  can  be  seeing  it,  and  I  sitting 
at  the  wheel, "  says  she. 

So  Tommy  hammered  in  the  nail. 

"What's  the  name  of  the  pickther?"  says  the 
Widdah,  and  she  standing  back  a  piece  off,  the 
way  she  could  get  a  good  look  at  it. 

"It's  called  'The  Flight  of  the  Wild  Geese,'" 
says  Tommy,  with  a  grin. 

And  Heffernan  just  gave  one  laugh  out  of  him ; 
like  the  cough  of  a  sick  sheep  it  was,  and  tiu-ned 
about  and  went  home. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   GAME  LEG 

Heffernan's  house  at  the  Furry  Farm  stood  very 
backwards  from  the  roadside,  hiding  itself,  you'd 
really  think,  from  any  one  that  might  be  happening 
by.  As  if  it  need  do  that!  Why,  there  was  no 
more  snug,  well-looked-after  place  in  the  whole  of 
Ardenoo  than  Heffernan's  always  was,  with  full 
and  plenty  in  it  for  man  and  beast,  though  it 
wasn't  to  say  too  tasty-looking. 

And  it  was  terrible  lonesome.  There  wasn't  a 
neighbour  within  the  bawl  of  an  ass  of  it.  Heffer- 
nan  of  course  had  always  been  used  to  it,  so  that 
he  didn't  so  much  mind;  still,  he  missed  Art,  after 
he  going  off  with  little  Rosy  Rafferty.  That  was 
nigh-hand  as  bad  upon  him  as  losing  the  girl  herself. 
He  had  got  to  depend  on  Art  for  every  hand's  turn, 
a  thing  that  left  him  worse  when  he  was  without 
him.  And  he  was  very  slow-going.  As  long  as 
Julia  was  there,  she  did  all,  and  Heffeman  might 
stand  to  one  side  and  look  at  her.    And  so  he 

37 


38  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

missed  her  now,  more  than  ever;  and  still  he  had 
no  wish  to  see  her  back,  though  even  to  milk  the 
cows  came  awkward  to  him. 

He  was  contending  with  the  work  one  evening, 
and  the  calves  in  particular  were  leaving  him  dis- 
tracted, above  all,  a  small  little  white  one  that  he 
designed  for  Rosy,  when  he'd  have  her  Woman  of 
the  House  at  the  Furry  Farm.  That  calf,  I  needn't 
say,  was  not  the  pick  of  the  bunch,  but  as  Mickey 
thought  to  himself,  a  girl  wouldn't  know  any  bet- 
ter than  choose  a  calf  by  the  colour,  and  there 
would  be  no  good  wasting  anything  of  value  on  her. 
At  all  events  it  woiild  be  "child's  pig  and  daddy's 
bacon,"  most  likely,  with  that  calf.  But,  sure, 
what  matter!  Rosy  was  never  to  have  any  call 
to  it,  or  anything  else  at  the  Furry  Farm. 

Those  calves  were  a  very  sweet  lot,  so  that 
Mickey  might  have  been  feeling  all  the  pleasure 
in  life,  just  watching  them,  with  their  soft  little 
muzzles  down  in  the  warm,  sweet  milk,  snorting 
with  the  pure  enjoyment.  But  Mickey  was  only 
grousing  to  get  done,  and  vexed  at  the  way  the 
big  calves  were  shoving  the  little  ones  away,  and 
still  he  coiildn't  hinder  them.  Art  used  to  regulate 
them  very  simple  by  means  of  a  little  ash  quick 
he  kept,  to  slap  the  forward  calves  across  the  face 


The  Game  Leg  39 

when  they'd  get  too  impudent.  But  as  often  as 
Mickey  had  seen  him  do  that,  he  couldn't  do  the 
same.  The  ash  quick  was  so  close  to  him  that  if 
it  had  been  any  nearer  it  would  have  bitten  him. 
Stuck  up  in  a  corner  of  the  bit  of  ruin  that  had 
once  been  Castle  Heffeman  it  was.  But  it  might 
as  well  have  been  in  America  for  all  the  good  it  was 
to  Mickey. 

"I  wish  to  God  I  was  rid  of  the  whole  of  yous, 
this  minute!"  says  he  to  himself,  and  he  with  his 
face  all  red  and  steamy,  and  the  milk  slobbering 
out  of  the  pail  down  upon  the  ground,  the  way  the 
calves  were  butting  him  about  the  legs. 

That  very  minute,  he  heard  a  sound  behind  him. 
He  turned  about,  and  my  dear!  the  heart  jumped 
into  his  mouth,  as  he  saw  a  great,  immense  red  face, 
just  peeping  over  the  wall  that  shut  in  his  yard 
from  the  boreen.  That  wall  was  no  more  than  four 
feet  high.  Wouldn't  any  one  think  it  strange  to 
see  such  a  face,  only  that  far  from  the  ground!  and 
it  with  a  bushy  black  beard  around  it,  and  big  roll- 
ing eyes,  and  a  wide  old  hat  cocked  back  upon  it? 
You'd  have  to  think  it  was  something  "not  right " ; 
an  Appearance  or  Witchery  work  of  some  kind. 

But,  let  alone  that,  isn't  there  something  very 
terrifying  and  frightful  in  finding  yourself  being 


40  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

watched,  when  you  think  you're  alone;  and,  of  all 
things,  by  a  man?  The  worst  of  a  wild  beast 
wouldn't  put  the  same  bad  fear  in  your  heart. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Heffernan,"  says  the  new- 
comer, with  a  grin  upon  him,  free  and  pleasant; 
"that's  a  fine  lot  of  calves  you  have  there ! " 

Heffernan  was  so  put  about  that  he  made  no 
answer,  and  the  man  went  on  to  say,  "Is  it  that 
you  don't  know  me?  Sure,  you  couldn't  forget 
poor  old  Hopping  Hughie  as  simple  as  that!" 

And  he  gave  himself  a  shove,  so  that  he  raised 
his  shoulders  above  the  wall.  A  brave  big  pair 
they  were,  too,  but  they  were  only  just  held  up  on 
crutches.  Hughie  could  balance  himself  upon 
them,  and  get  about,  as  handy  as  you  please.  But 
he  was  dead  of  his  two  legs. 

"Oh,  Hughie  .  .  .  !"  says  Heffernan,  pretty 
stiff,  "well,  and  what  do  you  want  here?" 

"Och,  nothing  in  life.    ..." 

"Take  it  then,  and  let  you  be  off  about  your 
business ! "  says  Mickey  as  quick  as  a  flash  for  once ; 
and  he  that  was  proud  when  he  had  it  said ! 

Hughie  had  a  most  notorious  tongue  himself,  but 
he  knew  when  to  keep  it  quiet,  and  he  thought  it  as 
good  to  appear  very  mild  and  down  in  himself 
now,  so  he  said,  '^ My  business!  sure,  what  word  is 


The  Game  Leg  41 

that  to  say  to  a  poor  old  fellah  on  crutches !  Not 
like  you,  Mr.  Heffernan,  that'll  be  off  to  the 
fair  of  Balloch  to-morrow  morning,  bright  and 
early,  with  them  grand  fine  calves  of  yours.  The 
price  they'll  go!  There  isn't  the  peel  of  them  in 
Ardenoo!" 

"Do  you  tell  me  that?"  says  Heffernan,  that  a 
child  could  cheat. 

"That's  what  they  do  be  telling  me,"  says 
Hughie.  He  could  build  a  nest  in  your  ear,  he  was 
that  cunning.  He  thought  he  saw  a  chance  of 
getting  to  the  fair  himself,  and  a  night's  lodging  as 
well,  if  he  managed  right. 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  I  could  get  them  there,  so, " 
says  Mickey,  "and  hasn't  one  to  drive  them  for 
me!" 

"Would  I  do?"  says  Hughie. 

Heffernan  looked  at  him  up  and  down. 

"Sure  you'd  not  be  able!" 

"Whoo!  Me  not  able?  Maybe  I'm  Hke  the 
singed  cat,  better  than  I  look!  I'm  slow,  but  fair 
and  easy  goes  far  in  a  day !  Never  you  fear  but  I'll 
get  your  calves  to  Balloch,  the  same  way  the  boy 
ate  the  cake,  very  handy.    .    .    .  " 

The  simplest  thing  would  have  been  for  Heffer- 
nan to  take  and  drive  the  calves  himself.     But  he 


42  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

never  had  the  fashion  of  doing  such  things.  Any- 
way it  wouldn't  answer  for  the  people  to  see  a  man 
with  a  good  means  of  his  own,  like  Mickey,  turning 
drover  that  way. 

So  he  thought  again,  while  Hughie  watched  him ; 
and  then  says  he,  "You'll  have  to  be  off  out  of  this 
before  the  stars  have  left  the  sky!" 

"And  why  wouldn't  I?"  says  Hughie;  "only 
give  me  a  bit  of  supper  and  a  shakedown  for  the 
night,  the  way  I'll  be  fresh  for  the  road  to-morrow.  '* 

Hughie  was  looking  to  be  put  sitting  down  in  the 
kitchen  alongside  Heffernan  himself,  and  to  have 
the  settle-bed  foreninst  the  fire  to  sleep  in.  But 
he  had  to  content  himself  with  the  straw  in  the 
barn  and  a  plateful  carried  out  to  him.  Queer  and 
slow-going  Heffernan  might  be,  but  he  wasn't 
thinking  of  having  the  likes  of  Hopping  Hughie  in 
his  chimney-corner,  where  he  had  often  thought  to 
see  little  Rosy  Rafferty  and  she  smiling  at  him. 

Hughie  took  it  all  very  contented.  Gay  and 
happy  he  was  after  his  supper,  and  soon  fell  asleep 
on  the  straw,  with  his  ragged  pockets  that  empty, 
that  the  Divil  could  dance  a  hornpipe  in  them  and 
not  strike  a  copper  there;  while  Mickey  above  in 
bed  in  his  own  house,  with  his  fine  farm  and  all  his 
stock  about  him,  calves  and  cows  and  pigs,  not  to 


The  Game  Leg  43 

speak  of  the  money  in  the  old  stocking  under  the 
thatch  .  .  .  Mickey  couldn't  sleep,  only  worry- 
ing, thinking  was  he  right  to  go  sell  the  calves  at 
all ;  and  to  be  letting  Hughie  drive  them ! 

"I  had  little  to  do,"  he  thought,  "to  be  letting 
him  in  about  the  place  at  all,  and  couldn't  tell 
what  divilment  he  might  be  up  to,  as  soon  as  he 
gets  me  asleep!  Hughie's  terrible  wicked,  and  as 
strong  as  a  ditch!  I  done  well  to  speak  him  civil, 
anyway.  But  I'll  not  let  them  calves  stir  one 
peg  out  of  this  with  him!  I'd  sooner  risk  keeping 
them  longer.    .    .    ." 

There's  the  way  he  was  going  on,  tossing  and 
tumbling  and  tormenting  himself;  as  if  bed  wasn't 
a  place  to  rest  yourself  in  and  not  be  raking  up 
annoyances. 

So  it  wasn't  till  near  morning  that  Mickey  dozed 
off,  and  never  wakened  till  it  was  more  than  time 
to  be  ofif  for  the  fair. 

Up  he  jumped  and  out  to  stop  Hughie.  But 
the  yard  was  silent  and  empty.  Hughie  and  the 
calves  were  gone. 

Mickey  was  more  uneasy  than  ever. 

"A  nice  bosthoon^  I  must  be,"  he  thought,  "to 
go  trust  my  good-looking  calves  to  a  k'nat'  like 

'Fool.  'Rogue. 


44  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

Hughie!  And  he  to  go  off  without  any  breakfast, 
too   .    .    .    !" 

Heffernan  was  a  good  warrant  to  feed  man  or 
beast.  But  he  mightn't  have  minded  about 
Hughie,  that  had  plenty  of  little  ways  of  providing 
for  himself.  His  pockets  would  be  like  sideboards, 
the  way  he  would  have  them  stuck  out  with  meat 
and  eggs  and  so  on,  that  he  would  be  given  along 
the  road.  Hughie  was  better  fed  than  plenty  that 
bestowed  food  upon  him. 

Balloch,  where  the  fair  is  held,  is  the  wildest  and 
most  lonesome  place  in  Ardenoo,  with  a  steep  rough 
bit  of  road  leading  up  to  it,  very  awkward  to  drive 
along.  Up  this  comes  Heffernan,  on  his  side-car, 
driving  his  best,  and  in  a  great  hurry  to  know  where 
would  he  come  on  Hughie.  He  had  it  laid  out  in 
his  own  mind  that  sight  nor  light  of  his  calves  he 
never  would  get  in  this  world  again.  So  it  was 
a  great  surprise  to  him  to  find  them  there  before 
him,  safe  and  sound.  His  heart  lightened  at  that 
as  if  a  millstone  was  lifted  off  it. 

And  the  fine  appearance  there  was  upon  them! 
Not  a  better  spot  in  the  fair-green,  than  where 
Hughie  had  them,  opposite  a  drink-tent  where  the 
people  would  be  thronging  most.  And  it  was  a 
choice  spot  for  Hughie  too.     Happy  and  contented 


The  Game  Leg  45 

he  was,  his  back  against  a  tree,  leaning  his  weight 
on  one  crutch  and  the  other  convenient  to  his  hand. 

"So  there's  where  you  are!"  says  Mickey,  when 
he  came  up. 

"Ah,  where  else!"  says  Hughie,  a  bit  scornful. 
Sure  it  was  a  foolish  remark  to  pass,  and  the  man 
there  before  him,  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face. 
But  Hughie  was  puzzled,  too,  by  the  look  of  relief 
he  saw  on  Mickey's  face.  He  understood  nothing 
of  what  Heffernan  was  after  passing  through.  It's 
an  old  saying  and  a  true  one,  "Them  that  has  the 
world  has  care!"  but  them  that  hasn't  it,  what  do 
they  know  about  it? 

While  Hughie  was  turning  this  over  in  his  mind, 
Mickey  was  throwing  an  eye  upon  the  calves,  and 
then,  seeing  they  were  all  right,  he  was  bandying 
off  with  himself,  when  Hughie  said,  "Terrible 
dry  work  it  is,  driving  stock  along  them  dusty 
roads  since  the  early  morning!"  and  he  rubbed  the 
back  of  his  hand  across  his  mouth  with  a  grin. 

At  that,  Mickey  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket 
and  felt  round  about,  and  then  pulled  it  out  empty. 

"I'll  see  you  later,  Hughie,"  says  he,  "I'll  not 
forget  you,  never  fear!  Just  let  you  wait  here, 
till  I  have  the  poor  mare  attended  to  that  drew 
me  here.    ..." 


46  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

So  he  went  off  to  do  this,  and  then  into  the 
drink- tent  with  him,  the  way  he  could  be  getting 
a  sup  himself.  But  no  sign  of  he  to  give  anything 
to  Hughie.  And  there  now  is  where  Mickey  made 
a  big  mistake. 

He  met  up  with  a  couple  or  three  that  he  was 
acquainted  with  in  the  tent,  and  they  began  to 
talk  of  this  thing  and  that  thing,  so  that  it  was  a 
gay  little  while  before  Mickey  came  out  again. 

When  he  did,  "What  sort  is  the  drink  in  there, 
Mr.  Heffernan?"  says  Hughie. 

Now  what  Mickey  had  taken  at  that  time  was 
no  more  than  would  warm  the  cockles  of  his  heart. 
So  he  looked  quite  pleasant  and  said,  "Go  in 
yourself,  Hughie,  and  here's  what  will  enable  you 
to  judge  it!" 

And  he  held  out  a  shilling  to  Hughie. 

"A  bird  never  yet  flew  upon  the  one  wing,  Mr. 
Heffernan!"  said  Hughie,  that  was  looking  to  get 
another  shilling,  and  that  would  be  only  his  due 
for  driving  the  calves. 

Mickey  said  nothing  one  way  or  the  other,  only 
went  off,  and  left  Hughie  standing  there,  holding 
out  his  hand  in  front  of  him  with  the  shilling  in 
it,  lonesome. 

He  that  was  vexed !    He  got  redder  in  the  face 


The  Game  Leg  47 

than  ever,  and  gave  out  a  few  curses,  till  he  remem- 
bered there  wasn't  one  to  hear  him.  So  he  stopped 
and  went  into  the  tent  and  I  needn't  say  he  got  the 
best  value  he  could  there. 

But  all  the  time,  he  was  thinking  how  badly 
Heffernan  was  after  treating  him,  putting  him  off 
without  enough  to  see  him  through  the  fair  even, 
let  alone  with  a  trifle  in  his  pockets  to  help  him  on 
his  rounds.  He  began  planning  how  he  could  pay 
out  Mickey. 

He  got  himself  back  to  the  same  spot,  near  the 
calves,  to  see  what  woiild  happen.  After  a  time 
he  saw  Heffernan  coming  back,  and  little  Barney 
Maguire  was  with  him.  A  very  decent  boy  Barney 
was,  quiet  and  agreeable;  never  too  anxious  for 
work,  but  very  knowledgeable  about  how  things 
should  be  done,  from  a  wake  to  a  sheep-shearing. 
Heffernan  always  liked  to  have  Barney  with  him 
at  a  fair. 

The  two  of  them  stood  near  the  calves,  careless- 
like,  as  if  they  took  no  interest  in  them  at  all. 

A  dealer  came  up. 

"How  much  for  them  calves?  Not  that  I'm  in 
need  of  the  like, "  says  he. 

"Nobody  wants  you  to  take  them,  so,"  says 
Barney,  "but  the  price  is  three  pounds  .    .    . 


48  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

or  was  it  guineas  you're  after  saying,  Mr. 
Heffeman?" 

Heffeman  said  nothing,  and  the  dealer  spoke  up 
very  fierce,  "Three  pounds!  Put  thirty  shilHngs 
on  them,  and  I'll  be  talking  to  ye!" 

Mickey  again  only  looked  at  his  adviser,  and 
says  Barney,  "Thirty  shillings!  'Tis  you  that's 
bidding  wide,  this  day!  May  the  Lord  forgive 
you !  Is  it  wanting  a  present  you  are,  of  the  finest 
calves  in  all  Ardenoo!" 

Heffeman  swelled  out  with  delight  at  that;  as 
if  Barney's  word  could  make  his  calves  either  better 
or  worse. 

"Wasn't  it  fifty-seven  and  sixpence  you're  after 
telling  me  you  were  offered  only  yesterday,  Mr. 
Heffernan,"  says  Barney,  "just  for  the  small  ones 
of  the  lot?" 

"Och!  I  dare  say!  don't  you?"  says  the 
dealer;  "the  woman  that  owns  you  it  was  that 
made  you  that  bid,  to  save  your  word ! " 

Poor  Mickey!  and  he  that  hadn't  a  woman  at 
all!  The  dealer  of  course  being  strange  couldn't 
know  that,  nor  why  Hughie  gave  a  laugh  out  of 
him  then. 

But  that  didn't  matter.  Mickey  took  no  notice. 
A  man  that's  a  bit  "thick"  escapes  many  a  prod 


The  Game  Leg  49 

that  another  would  feel  sharp.  So  in  all  things  you 
can  see  how  them  that  are  afflicted  are  looked  after 
in  some  little  way  we  don't  know. 

The  dealer  looked  at  the  calves  again. 

"Troth,  I'm  thinking  it's  the  wrong  ones  yous 
have  here!  Yous  must  have  forgotten  them  fine 
three-pound  calves  at  home!" 

And  Mickey  began  looking  very  anxiously  at 
them,  as  if  he  thought  maybe  he  had  made  some 
mistake. 

"Them  calves,"  says  the  dealer  slowly,  "isn't 
like  a  pretty  girl,  that  every  one  will  be  looking  to 
get!  And,  besides,  they're  no  size!  A  terrible 
small  calf  they  are!" 

"Small!"  said  Barney,  "it's  too  big  they  are! 
And  if  they're  little,  itself,  what  harm!  Isn't 
a  mouse  the  prettiest  animal  you  might  ask 
to  see!" 

"Ay  is  it!"  says  the  dealer,  "but  it'll  take  a 
power  of  mice  to  stock  a  farm!"  and  off  with  him, 
in  a  real  passion,  by  the  way  of. 

But  Barney  knew  better  than  to  mind.  The 
dealer  came  back,  and  at  long  last  the  calves  were 
sold  and  paid  for.  Then  the  luck-penny  had  to  be 
given.  Hard-set  Barney  was  to  get  Heffernan  to 
do  that.     In  the  end,  Mickey  was  so  bothered  over 


50  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

it,  that  he  dropped  a  shilling  just  where  Hughie 
was  standing  leaning  his  weight  on  the  one  crutch 
as  usual. 

As  quick  as  a  flash,  he  had  the  other  up,  and 
made  a  kind  of  a  lurch  forward,  as  if  to  look  for  the 
money.  But  he  managed  to  get  the  second  crutch 
down  upon  the  shilling,  to  hide  it;  and  then  he 
looked  round  about  upon  the  ground,  as  innocent 
as  a  child,  as  if  he  was  striving  his  best  to  find  the 
money  for  Mickey. 

"Where  should  it  be,  at  all  at  all?"  says  Hughie; 
"bewitched  it  should  be,  to  say  it's  gone  like 
that!" 

And  Heffernan  standing  there  with  his  mouth 
open,  looked  as  if  he  had  lost  all  belonging  to  him. 
Then  he  began  searching  about  a  good  piece  off 
from  where  the  shilling  fell. 

"It's  not  there  you'll  get  it!"  said  Barney; 
"  sure  you  ought  always  look  for  a  thing  where  you 
lost  it!" 

He  went  over  to  Hughie. 

"None  of  your  tricks,  now!  It's  you  has  Mr. 
Heffeman's  money,  and  let  you  give  it  up  to  him!" 

"Is  it  me  have  it?  Sure  if  I  had,  what  would 
I  do,  only  hand  it  over  to  the  man  that  owns  it!" 
says  Hughie. 


The  Game  Leg  51 

On  the  word,  he  let  himself  down  upon  the 
ground,  and  slithered  over  on  top  of  the  shilling. 

But  quick  and  all  as  he  was,  Barney  was 
quicker. 

"Sure  you  have  it  there,  you  vagabone  you! 
Give  it  up,  and  get  off  out  of  this  with  yourself!" 

And  he  caught  Hughie  a  clip  on  the  side  of  the 
head  that  sent  him  sprawling  on  the  broad  of  his 
back.  And  there,  right  enough,  under  him  was 
the  shilling. 

So  Barney  picked  it  up,  and  for  fear  of  any  other 
mistake,  he  handed  it  to  the  dealer  himself. 

"It's  an  ugly  turn  whatever,  to  be  knocking  a 
poor  cripple  about  that-a-way!"  said  the  dealer, 
dropping  the  luck-penny  into  his  pocket. 

"Ach,  how  poor  he  is,  and  let  him  be  crippled, 
itself!"  says  Barney;  "it's  easy  seeing  you're 
strange  to  Ardenoo,  or  you'd  not  be  compassion- 
ating Hughie  so  tender!" 

No  more  was  said  then,  only  into  the  tent  with 
them  again  to  wet  the  bargain.  Hughie  gathered 
himself  up.  He  was  in  the  divil's  own  temper.. 
Small  blame  to  him,  too!  Let  alone  the  dis- 
appointment about  the  shilling,  and  the  knock 
Barney  gave  him,  the  people  all  had  a  laugh  at  him. 
And  he  liked  that  as  little  as  the  next  one.     You'd 


52  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

think  he'd  curse  down  the  stars  out  of  the  skies 
this  time,  the  way  he  went  on. 

And  it  wasn't  Barney's  clout  he  cared  about, 
half  as  much  as  Mickey's  meanness.  It  was  that 
had  him  so  mad.  He  felt  he  must  pay  Heffernan 
out. 

He  considered  a  bit ;  then  he  gave  his  leg  a  slap. 

"I  have  it  now!"  he  said  to  himself. 

He  beckoned  two  young  boys  up  to  him,  that 
were  striving  to  sell  a  load  of  cabbage  plants  they 
had  there  upon  a  donkey's  back,  and  getting  bad 
call  for  them. 

"It's  a  poor  trade  yous  are  doing  to-day,"  said 
Hughie;  "and  I  was  thinking  in  meself  yous 
should  be  very  dry.  You  wouldn't  care  to  earn  the 
price  of  a  pint?" 

"How  could  we?"  says  the  boys. 

"I'll  tell  you !  Do  you  see  that  car? "  and  Hughie 
pointed  to  where  Heffernan  had  left  his  yoke 
drawn  up,  and  the  old  mare  cropping  a  bit  as  well 
as  she  could,  being  tied  by  the  head;  "well, 
any  one  that  will  pull  the  linch-pin  out  of  the  wheel, 
on  the  far  side  of  that  car,  needn't  be  without 
tuppence  to  wet  his  whistle  ..."  and  Hughie 
gave  a  rattle  to  a  few  coppers  he  had  left  in  his 
pocket. 


The  Game  Leg  53 

"Yous'll  have  to  be  smart  about  it  too,"  said 
he,  "or  maybe  whoever  owns  that  car  will  have 
gone  off  upon  it,  afore  yous  have  time  to  do  the 
primest  bit  of  iun  that  ever  was  seen  upon  this 
fair-green!" 

"Whose  is  the  car?" 

"Och,  if  I  know!"  says  Hughie;  "but  what 
matter  for  that  ?  One  man  is  as  good  as  another  at 
the  bottom  of  a  ditch!  ay  and  better.  It  will  be 
the  hoith  of  divarsion  to  see  the  roll-off  they'll  get 
below  there  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.    .    .    .  " 

"Maybe  they'd  get  hurted!"  said  the  boys. 

"Hurted,  how-are-ye!"  says  Hughie;  "how 
could  any  one  get  hurted  so  simple  as  that?  I'd  be 
the  last  in  the  world  to  speak  of  such  a  thing  in 
that  case  I     But  if  yous  are  afraid  of  doing  it  ..." 

"Afraid!  that's  queer  talk  to  be  having!" 
says  one  of  them,  very  stiff,  for  like  all  boys  he 
thought  nothing  so  bad  as  to  have  "afraid"  said 
to  him;  "no,  but  we're  ready  to  do  as  much  as 
the  next  one!" 

"I  wouldn't  doubt  yiz!"  said  Hughie;  "h-away 
with  the  two  of  you  now!  Only  mind!  don't  let 
on  a  word  of  this  to  any  sons  of  man .    .    .    .  " 

Off  they  went,  and  Hughie  turned  his  back  on 
them  and  the  car,  and  stared  at  whatever  was 


54  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

going  on  the  other  end  of  the  fair.  He  hadn't  long 
to  wait,  before  Heffernan  and  Barney  and  the 
dealer  came  out  of  the  drink-tent.  Hughie  took 
a  look  at  them  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

"Ah!"  he  said  to  himself,  "all  ' purty-well-I- 
thank-ye!'  after  what  they  drank  inside!  But 
wait  a  bit,  Mickey  Heffernan.    .    .    .  " 

The  three  men  went  over  to  where  Heffernan 's 
car  was  waiting.  The  boys  were  gone.  The  other 
two  men  helped  Mickey  to  get  his  yoke  ready. 
Then  he  got  up,  and  they  shook  hands  a  good  many 
times.  Heffernan  chucked  at  the  reins  and  started 
off. 

Hughie  was  watching,  and  when  he  saw  how 
steadily  the  old  mare  picked  her  way  down  the 
steep  boreen,  he  began  to  be  afraid  he  hadn't  hit 
on  such  a  very  fine  plan  at  all.  And  if  Mickey 
had  only  had  the  wit  to  leave  it  all  to  the  poor 
dumb  beast,  she  might  have  brought  him  home 
safe  enough. 

But  nothing  would  do  him,  only  to  give  a  shout 
and  a  flourish  of  the  whip,  half-way  down  the  hill. 
The  mare  started  and  gave  a  jump.  She  was  big 
and  awkward,  much  like  Mickey  himself.  Still,  it 
was  no  fault  of  her,  that,  when  she  got  to  the  turn, 
the  wheel  came  off  and  rolled  away  to  one  side. 


The  Game  Leg  55 

Down  came  the  car,  Mickey  fell  off,  and  there  he 
lay,  till  some  people  that  saw  what  was  going  on 
ran  down  the  hill  after  him,  and  got  the  mare  on 
to  her  feet,  and  not  a  scratch  on  her. 

But  poor  Mickey !  It  was  easy  to  see  with  half 
an  eye  that  he  was  badly  hurt. 

"Some  one  will  have  to  drive  him  home,  what- 
ever," said  Barney,  coming  up  the  hill  to  look  for 
more  help,  after  doing  his  best  to  get  Mickey  to 
stand  up;  and,  sure,  how  was  he  to  do  that,  upon 
a  broken  leg?  "A  poor  thing  it  is,  too,  to  see 
how  a  thing  of  the  kind  could  occur  so  simple! 
and  a  decent  man  like  Heffeman  to  be  nigh-hand 
killed.  ..." 

'"Deed  and  he  is  a  decent  man!"  saidHughie; 
"and  why  wouldn't  he?  I'd  be  a  decent  man 
meself  if  I  had  the  Furry  Farm  and  it  stocked.  .  .  ." 

"He's  in  a  poor  way  now,  in  any  case,"  said 
Barney.  "I  doubt  will  he  ever  get  over  this 
rightly !    That's  apt  to  be  a  leg  to  him,  all  his  life ! " 

"Well,  and  so,  itself!"  said  Hughie;  "haven't 
I  two  of  them  lame  legs?  and  who  thinks  to  pity 
Hughie?" 

"  It's  another  matter  altogether,  with  a  man  like 
Mr.  Heffeman,"  said  Barney;  "what  does  the 
like  of  you  miss,  by  not  being  able  to  get  about, 


56  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

compared  with  a  man  that  might  spend  his  time 
walking  a-through  his  cattle,  and  looking  at  his 
crops  growing,  every  day  in  the  week?" 

"To  be  sure,  he  coiild  be  doing  all  that!"  said 
Hughie,  "but  when  a  thing  of  this  kind  happens 
out  so  awkward,  it's  the  will  of  God,  and  the  will  of 
man  can't  abate  that!" 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   "rest  of  him" 

This  is  how  it  happened  with  poor  Mickey  Heffer- 
nan  that  he  was  left  with  a  "game"  leg,  soon  after 
he  had  had  that  falling-out  with  Art  and  the 
Raffertys,  on  account  of  the  little  girl  there.  His 
sister  Julia  came  home,  of  course,  as  soon  as  she 
got  word  about  the  accident.  She  looked  after 
him  well,  and  not  alone  that,  but  she  managed  the 
outside  work  about  the  place  too,  till  Mickey  was 
so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able  to  get  about  himself; 
at  first  on  two  crutches  like  Hughie  himself,  and 
then  by  degrees  he  was  well  enough  to  do  with 
just  a  stick. 

Well  and  good.  As  long  as  he  was  helpless,  and 
depending  on  Julia  for  everything,  she  and  he  hit 
it  off  together,  all  right.  A  contrary  woman  is 
often  like  that.  She'll  let  you  do  nothing,  as  long 
as  you  are  well,  and  woiild  be  able  for  a  bit  of 
sport  and  amusement.  But  once  you  are  laid  up 
so  that  you  could  enjoy  nothing,  she'll  encourage 

57 


58  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

you  to  do  the  very  things  that  would  enrage  her 
at  other  times. 

This  explains  how  it  was  that  Jiilia  flew  into  a 
tearing  rage  one  morning,  when  Mickey  was  on  his 
feet  again,  because  he  asked  for  a  second  egg  for 
his  breakfast.  While  he  was  in  bed,  she  woiild  be 
trying  to  force  food  on  him,  when  he  had  no  appe- 
tite for  anything;  I'm  not  saying  that  this  is  why 
she  pressed  the  things  on  him;  but  anyway,  now 
that  he  was  up  again  and  had  a  wish  for  food,  it 
seemed  as  if  she  grudged  it  to  him. 

With  Julia,  one  word  borrowed  another,  al- 
though Mickey  never  made  her  answer.  It  saves 
quarrelling  most  times,  but  not  with  Julia.  She 
would  work  herself  into  a  rage  all  the  more  when 
he  kept  quiet  and  seemed  to  take  no  notice.  Of 
course,  that  is  an  annoying  thing.  The  end  of  it 
was,  that  Julia  went  off  again,  to  stay  with  some 
friends  in  Dublin  it  was,  this  time. 

It  was  a  foolish  step  for  Julia  to  take,  but  to  be 
sure  she  did  not  know  what  was  in  Mickey's  mind, 
nor  how  having  lost  little  Rosy  Rafferty  had  not 
put  him  off  the  notion  of  getting  a  wife.  It  was 
only  more  anxious  than  ever  he  was  now  to  be 
married.  He  was  just  as  glad  to  be  quit  of  Julia, 
the  way  he  could  be  looking  about  him,  without 


The  ''Rest  of  Him"  59 

any  interference  from  her.  In  fact,  he  knew  very- 
well  that  his  only  chance  would  be  to  take  the 
ball  at  the  hop,  and  look  out  for  a  woman  that 
would  be  suitable,  when  Julia  would  be  out  of  the 
way. 

How  he  managed  in  the  long  run  to  rid  himself 
of  Julia  was  a  most  curious  affair.  Of  all  the 
people  in  Ardenoo,  Peter  Caffrey  was  the  last 
that  he  would  have  expected  help  from  in  the 
business. 

Peter,  or  Peetcheen  as  he  was  mostly  always 
called,  was  the  only  boy  that  was  left  of  the  Caf- 
freys  at  the  cross-roads,  before  you  come  to  the 
turn  leading  on  to  Clough-na-Rinka.  A  very  long, 
weak  family  of  them  there  used  to  be  there.  The 
poor  mother  foimd  it  hard  to  keep  going  at  all, 
particularly  after  the  father  died.  In  fact.  Dark 
Molly  Reilly  would  say,  she  really  thought  Al- 
mighty God  must  have  some  little  way  of  His 
own  of  feeding  people  like  the  Caffreys,  that  no  one 
knew  anything  about. 

They  had  the  house  for  nothing,  anyway.  But  a 
bad  house  it  was;  the  roof  let  in  wet,  every  time 
rain  fell,  the  same  as  if  it  was  coming  through  a 
sieve.  And  the  smoke  from  the  hearth  curled  up 
in  clouds,  and  escaped  by  the  door  just  as  freely 


6o  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

as  it  did  through  the  chimney.  It  was  old  Peter 
Caffrey,  Peetcheen's  grandfather,  that  he  was 
called  after,  that  had  built  the  house  himself,  and 
had  managed  to  edge  it  in  on  a  piece  o'  waste 
ground  that  no  one  could  claim ;  so  that's  how  there 
was  no  rent  to  be  paid.  That  is  a  great  help  to 
any  one,  to  be  rent-free ;  let  alone  to  the  Caff reys, 
that  were  always  as  poor  as  Job's  dog.  There 
never  was  one  of  them  had  two  halfpence  to 
jingle  on  a  tombstone.  But  still,  poor  and  all  as 
they  were,  they  managed  to  be  cheerful  and  con- 
tented and  would  suffer  on,  someway.  It  was  the 
mother  that  saw  to  that. 

One  of  the  longest  things  that  Peetcheen  could 
look  back  on  was  the  way  Miss  O'Farrell  from  the 
Big  House  laughed  one  day  that  she  happened  to 
be  passing  by  and  overheard  Dark  Moll  passing 
the  time  of  day  with  his  father. 

"How  are  you,  Jack?"  said  Moll,  "and  how's 
the  rest  of  ye,  man  dear?" 

By  that  word,  "the  rest,"  she  meant  his  wife, 
the  other  part  of  him.  But  Miss  O'Farrell  took  it 
up  wrong. 

"The  Rest?"  she  said;  "why,  that  name  fits 
Mrs.  Caffrey  like  her  skin!  And  it's  you  that 
are  the  lucky  man.  Jack  Caffrey,  to  have  Rest! 


The  ''Rest  of  Him"  6i 

For  there's  nothing  like  rest,  in  all  this  wide 
world!" 

With  that,  she  gave  a  little  sob  or  sigh ;  it  may 
have  been  because  she  was  out  of  breath,  for  she 
was  walking  very  fast.  What  else  could  it  be? 
What  trouble  could  be  on  the  likes  of  Miss  O'Far- 
rell,  living  in  a  fine  house,  with  full  and  plenty  of 
everything  she  could  want  in  it,  and  no  one  to 
interfere  with  her,  except  the  father,  and  he  doted 
down  on  her,  his  only  child? 

"Won't  you  come  in  and  take  a  heat  of  the  fire, 
miss?"  said  Mrs.  Caffrey,  coming  to  the  door  very 
smiling.  It  would  do  you  good  to  see  her,  she  was 
so  nice  and  quiet  and  easy-going.  Nothing  ever 
hurried  her  or  put  her  about. 

"I'm  afraid  I  haven't  time  to-day,  thank  you, 
Mrs.  Caffrey,"  said  the  young  lady,  and  off  she 
went,  at  a  sweep's  trot,  you  might  say;  and  left 
them  standing  there,  Mrs.  Caffrey  with  her  hands 
under  her  apron,  looking  after  her  till  she  was  out 
of  sight. 

All  that  remained  in  Peetcheen's  mind.  He  was 
just  after  coming  from  the  well,  he  and  the  next 
smallest  child,  with  a  can  of  water  slung  on  a  stick 
between  them.  It  was  pretty  heavy,  and  they  got 
it  hard  to  carry  it;  although  before  they  had  it 


62  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

landed  into  the  kitchen  for  their  mother,  more  than 
half  of  it  had  spilled  out,  because  they  could  not 
keep  it  steady.  And  when  they  were  rid  of  their 
burden,  whatever  the  other  child  did,  Peetcheen 
just  went  off  to  rest  himself;  what  he  was  just  in 
time  to  hear  Miss  O'Farrell  say  was  such  a  good 
thing! 

But  without  any  such  word  from  her,  rest  was  a 
thing  Peetcheen  was  always  ready  for.  He  took 
after  the  mother  in  that.  If  there  was  no  stool 
ready  for  him  .  .  .  and  in  houses  like  Caffrey's 
furniture  is  never  too  plentiful ;  nothing  is,  except 
children;  every  seat  there  was,  two  would  be 
wanting  it ;  and  the  same  with  the  food  .  .  .  well 
Peetcheen  would  just  step  aside,  and  wait. 

Truth  to  tell,  he  was  one  of  the  sort  that  really 
is  anxious  for  nothing  so  much  as  to  keep  out  of  the 
way,  and  will  let  every  one  else  get  in  ahead  of 
them.  Above  all,  with  work.  Whenever  there 
was  talk  of  a  job  to  be  done,  Peetcheen  was  the 
last  to  make  any  attempt  at  it ;  frightened,  as  it 
were,  at  the  thought  of  it.  This  is  how  it  came 
about  that  when  all  the  others  of  the  Caffrey 
family  went  off,  one  here,  another  there,  accord- 
ing as  a  chance  turned  up,  and  as  many  as 
could  to  America,  Peetcheen  was  left  on  at  home. 


The  -Rest  of  Him"  63 

At  Ardenoo,  there  was  nothing  scarcer  than 
work;  unless,  maybe,  money.  The  labour  went 
out  when  the  machines  came  in.  The  tillage  was 
all  given  up,  in  any  case.  Every  side  you  could 
see  only  grass  farms,  that  there  would  be  no 
labour  wanted  for,  only  a  herd  with  his  collie-dog. 
The  farmers  are  blamed  for  this,  but  why  would 
they  not  do  what  would  bring  them  in  the  best 
return?  It's  only  human  nature,  that  nothing 
can  alter,  only  God,  for  every  one  to  do  the  best 
he  can  for  himself. 

Besides,  when  there  would  be  two  or  three  look- 
ing for  every  job,  why  wouldn't  a  man  take  the 
best  he  could  get  to  do  it  for  him?  That  is  how 
Peetcheen  was  always  left  out  in  the  cold.  He 
never  was  the  best  at  anything.  Civil-spoken  and 
willing  the  creature  was  always.  Somehow,  what- 
ever he  would  attempt  would  go  contrary  on  him 
though. 

"I  don't  know  at  all  what  sort  of  a  gaum  you 
must  be,  Peetcheen!"  said  Big  Cusack  to  him,  one 
day  that  they  were  drawing  home  his  turf  from  the 
bog,  and  Peetcheen  had  come  along  with  no  more 
than  a  half -load;  "a  body  would  think  it  was  tea- 
cakes  for  ladies  you  had  laid  out  so  careful,  instead 
of  sods  of  turf!" 


64  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

Peetcheen  was  standing,  with  his  mouth  open, 
staring  at  the  half -empty  cart,  and  at  last  he  said, 
"Sure  I'm  stupid,  and  always  was!  I  filled  that 
cart  full,  when  I  was  leaving  the  bog .  .  .  .  It's 
what  I  have  a  right  to  be  hommered!" 

"What  use  would  it  be,  to  go  thrash  ye?"  said 
Cusack;  "only  a  waste  of  time!  Letting  the  fine 
turf  dribble  out  along  the  road,  for  the  want  of 
fastening  the  creel  in  the  back  of  the  cart!  You 
give  me  a  disgoost  with  yer  foolishness!  I  have 
no  patience  with  the  like!" 

Peetcheen  made  him  no  answer,  and  Big  Cusack 
got  madder  than  ever. 

"It's  ashamed  of  yourself  you  ought  to  be," 
he  began  again,  "a  big  gobbeen  like  you,  sitting  at 
home,  and  taking  the  bit  out  of  your  poor  old 
mother's  mouth !  Don't  let  me  see  your  big,  useless 
carcass  here  again !  What  ails  you,  that  you  can't 
be  a  man  or  a  mouse?  Why  don't  ye  strike  off 
somewhere  for  yourself,  where  the  people  don't 
know  you,  and  you  might  have  a  chance?" 
•  "Well,  from  this  out!"  said  poor  Peetcheen. 

The  very  next  day,  it  was  all  over  Ardenoo  that 
Peetcheen  was  after  quitting. 

Dark  Moll  went  to  see  his  mother  about  it. 

"  It's  not  true  what  they're  all  saying  below  there 


The  ''Rest  of  Him'*  65 

at  the  Shop,  Mrs.  Caffrey,  mam,"  said  she, 
"that  Peetcheen  has  wint  off  from  you?" 

"Ay,  is  it  true,"  said  the  mother;  "the  poor 
child,  he  went  off,  ere  last  night,  and  had  nothing 
only  a  clean  shirt  and  a  pair  of  stockings  between 
him  and  the  world   .    .    .  "  and  she  began  to  cry. 

"Just  so,"  said  Moll,  "like  the  boy  going  away 
to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  old  story,  wid  the  half- 
cake  and  the  blessing  from  his  mammy.   .    .    .  " 

"He  had  that,  whether  or  which,"  said  Mrs. 
Caffrey;  "for  a  quieter,  better  boy  never  broke 
bread!  And  there  he  is  now  gone  off  from  me; 
whatever  riz  his  mind,  that  he  couldn't  content 
himself  at  home  here  with  me?" 

"God  send  him  safe,  whatever  way  he  struck 
off!"  said  Moll;  "and  lonesome  you'll  be  here, 
agrah!  without  your  fine  boy!" 

"I  miss  him,  the  shockingest  ever  you  knew!" 
said  the  mother,  and  she  wiped  her  eyes  on  the 
comer  of  her  little  shawl;  "if  it  was  no  more  than 
the  look  of  his  brogues  of  an  evening,  and  they 
steaming  there  by  the  fire .    .    .    ." 

"Ay,  do  ye  miss  him,  and  will,  too!"  said  Moll, 
very  compassionately;  "and  the  empty  settle-bed 
and  all!  But  if  it  would  be  consolations  to  ye,  I 
could  stop  here  for  a  while,  anyway,  and  keep  an 


66  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

eye  on  things,  while  you  would  have  to  be  away; 
getting  the  water,  or  kindling  ...  or  below  at 
the  Shop   ..." 

Well,  Mrs.  Caffrey  had  no  wish  for  Moll  to  be 
there  for  a  constancy  for  different  reasons.  Moll 
was  not  very  tasty  in  some  of  her  ways,  and  she 
had  a  very  long  tongue.  But  Mrs.  Caffrey  had 
no  excuse  ready,  and  so  it  was  easier  to  let  the 
dark  woman  stay  than  to  turn  her  away;  and 
Mrs.  Caffrey  always  did  the  easiest  thing. 

This  is  how  Moll  got  a  stopping-place  there  for 
a  time.  It  contented  her  well.  She  had  been  very 
anxious  to  quit  Molally's,  where  she  had  been. 
They  were  decent  people  enough,  but  the  house 
was  narrow,  and  himself  would  be  up  striking 
lights  at  all  hours,  going  out  to  look  after  the  ewes 
and  lambs  that  he  had  in  his  care.  He  was  a  herd. 
Moll  felt  it  hard  being  disturbed  out  of  her  sleep. 
She  thought  she  might  do  worse  than  stop  at 
Caffrey's  for  a  bit,  anyway. 

Peetcheen  went  off,  and  a  wandering  boy  like 
him  will  often  go  far  enough,  before  he  meets  up 
with  a  chance  of  work.  He  was  in  Dublin  for  a 
while,  but  he  thought  bad  of  having  to  keep  on  at 
it,  ding-dong,  the  whole  day.  He  wanted  to  be 
somewhere  that  you  need  not  be  in  a  hurry,  and 


The  "Rest  of  Him"  67 

if  you  like,  betimes  you  might  turn  up  a  bucket  and 
sit  on  it,  and  take  a  few  blasts  of  a  pipe;  and  not 
one  to  find  fault  with  you  for  it. 

But  even  at  Ardenoo,  a  pet  job  like  that  is  not 
very  easy  to  find.  Peetcheen  thought  he  had  his 
fortune  made,  when  he  got  work  at  fifteen  shillings 
a  week,  instead  of  the  six  he  woiild  get  at  Ardenoo. 
But  he  had  not  reckoned  on  paying  out  for  every- 
thing he  wanted,  even  to  his  washing,  that  the 
poor  mother  always  did  for  him  at  home.  He 
found  the  money  little  enough,  and  he  had  nothing 
at  all  to  send  to  her,  as  he  thought  of  doing. 
Maybe  another  boy  would  have  managed  better. 
But  Peetcheen  was  just  himself,  and  not  another! 
He  had  no  great  sense  about  anything. 

In  Ardenoo,  the  neighbours  would  ask,  "How 
is  Peetcheen?  what  news  have  you  from  him?" 

"Ah,  what  but  good  news!"  Mrs.  Caffrey  would 
answer.  Indeed,  if  no  news  is  good  news,  she  had 
nothing  to  complain  about.  There  had  never  been 
but  the  one  letter  from  Peetcheen,  and  the  most  of 
it  was  taken  up  sending  remembrances  and  good 
wishes  to  this  body  and  that,  at  home. 

But  the  mother  kept  it  safe,  put  up  on  top  of 
the  dresser,  with  her  Prayer  Book,  and  her  clean 
cap  for  Simday. 


68  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

Peetcheen  did  not  keep  that  job  for  very  long. 
He  could  not  content  himself,  where  the  work  was 
so  hard  and  constant.  But  what  matter?  he 
would  not  be  kept  there  in  any  case.  He  got  the 
sack;  and  then  he  felt  he  had  had  enough  of  town 
ways,  and  he  wandered  off  into  the  country  again. 

After  some  little  time,  he  found  himself  back 
again,  not  too  far  from  home  at  all,  only  it  chanced 
that  he  was  not  very  well  acquainted  with  any  part 
of  Ardenoo,  except  just  about  his  own  home.  So 
he  did  not  know  the  farmer's  place  that  he  found 
himself  near,  one  evening,  that  he  went  up  to,  and 
asked  shelter  for  the  night. 

It  was  the  Furry  Farm.  But,  as  has  been 
explained,  that  house  was  very  backwards,  and 
Heffernan  seldom  left  it,  especially  now  that  he  was 
a  bit  helpless,  with  the  game  leg.  So  it  was  small 
blame  to  Peetcheen  not  to  know  where  he  was,  or 
who  it  was  he  was  speaking  to.  And  Peetcheen 
was  very  slow.  Many  a  thing  that  every  one  else 
would  know,  he  would  be  as  ignorant  of  as  if  he 
was  a  black  stranger. 

This  turned  out  to  his  advantage  now.  For 
when  he  heard  Mickey  saying  that  he  wanted  a 
handy  boy  about  the  place,  Peetcheen  made  no 
remark  about  Julia  being  gone  off,  though  it  had 


The  "Rest  of  Him"  69 

been  common  talk  in  Ardenoo,  before  even  he  had 
left  it.  He  just  said,  "  If  you'll  give  me  the  chance, 
sir,  I'll  do  me  best  to  please  ye!" 

So  Heffernan,  after  some  further  talk,  agreed 
to  that.  He  hired  Peetcheen.  The  place  suited 
the  boy  down  to  the  ground.  It  was  no  town 
style  there.  Everything  slow  and  easy-going. 
No  one  there,  except  Heffernan  and  himself; 
and  they  were  very  much  of  the  same  gait  of 
going. 

Farming  is  a  grand  business  for  them  that  are 
fond  of  keeping  a  pipe  in  their  mouths  and  their 
hands  in  their  pockets.  It's  often  remarked  that 
when  you  do  that,  not  much  else  finds  its  way  in ! 
But,  then,  not  much  finds  its  way  out.  You'll 
not  get  rich,  maybe,  but  you  can  keep  going. 
Anyway,  money  isn't  everything. 

Before  Peetcheen  had  been  very  long  at  the 
Furry  Farm,  he  began  to  notice  that  Heffernan 
would  seem  a  bit  uneasy  at  times.  He  was  very 
silent.  Often  of  an  evening,  he  would  go  off 
somewhere  with  himself,  either  limping  on  his 
stick,  or  maybe  driving  himself  on  the  side-car. 
While  he  would  be  away,  Peetcheen  would  be  left 
inside  at  the  fire,  and  nothing  to  keep  him  company 
imless  to  watch  a  pot  boiling  over  the  hearth  or 


70  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

something  of  that  kind.  But  Peetcheen  never  ob- 
jected to  that,  because  he  would  as  soon  be  in 
one  place  as  another,  and  maybe  sooner. 

But  one  evening,  Mickey  stayed  out  very  late. 
When  he  came  in,  he  sat  down  opposite  Peetcheen, 
and  pushed  back  his  old  hat,  and  says  he,  blowing 
a  big  sigh  out  of  him: 

"  It's  well  for  you,  to  be  sitting  there  and  nothing 
to  torment  you!  And  you  looking  as  if  you  had 
the  world  in  your  pocket!" 

Peetcheen  took  a  while  to  think  this  over,  and 
then  he  said,  "It  appears  middling  snug  here! 
Plenty  to  eat  and  drink,  and  a  good  way  of  lying 
down  at  night.     And  what  more  can  a  man  want ? ' * 

"I  want  more,  anyway!"  answered  Heffernan; 
"there's  a  woman  wanting  here,  to  have  an  eye 
over  the  place,  and  not  let  it  be  getting  all  through- 
other  the  way  it  is.    .    .    .  " 

"Won't  the  sister  you  were  telling  me  of  be  back 
from  Dublin  .    ,    .   ?" 

Then  Mickey  looked  at  Peetcheen  with  a  very 
pitiful  eye. 

"She  will,  in  troth!"  he  said. 

He  took  a  few  draws  of  his  pipe,  and  then,  "I 
may's  well  tell  you  the  whole  business!"  he  went 
on.    At  the  same  time,  he  did  not;  nor  had  the 


The  "Rest  of  Him"  71 

smallest  intention  of  telling  it.  But  who  ever 
does  tell  their  whole  mind? 

"The  way  of  it  is  this,"  said  Mickey;  "I'm 
wishing  this  length  of  time  to  get  a  wife  in  here,  and 
am  looking  about  for  some  one  that  would  be 
suitable.  But  it's  tedious,  and  very  severe  work 
on  a  man  like  me.  There's  a  power  to  be  con- 
sidered. There's  Julia,  now;  she  that's  my  sister; 
her  and  whatever  girl  I'd  take  might  not  get  on 
well  together.  In  fact,  she  would  be  dead  against 
my  bringing  any  one  in  on  this  floor,  as  long  as 
she's  on  it  herself.  I  was  turning  over  in  me  own 
mind,  could  I  make  up  a  match  for  herself  .  .  . 
that  would  settle  it  .  .  .  but,  sure,  I  tried  that 
over  and  over  ...  at  least,  she  did.    ,    .    .  " 

"Hard  to  be  plased,  maybe?"  said  Peetcheen, 
lifting  the  pot  off  the  hooks. 

"  Och,  I  don't  know  about  that ! "  said  Heffeman. 

At  the  time,  he  was  looking  at  Peetcheen  stand- 
ing with  the  big  black  pot  in  his  grip.  And  what- 
ever his  poor  old  mother  might  think  of  Peetcheen, 
the  boy  was  no  beauty.  But  Mickey  had  a  notion 
in  his  head,  and  he  thought  he  would  see  it  out. 

"A  quiet,  steady  boy  might  do  worse,  you'd 
think,  than  get  a  hard-working  girl,  settled  and 
sensible  and  not  too  young  or  skittish  .    .    .  and 


72  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

she  with  two  heifers  of  her  own  .  .  ,  and  maybe 
a  few  odd  pounds  in  an  old  stocking  as  well.   .   .   ." 

"They  might,  so,"  agreed  Peetcheen.  He 
wondered  what  was  making  Mickey  so  chatty. 

Then,  "Why  don't  you  get  marrit  yourself?" 
said  Heffernan,  with  a  grin.  And  slow  and  thick 
as  Peetcheen  was,  he  began  to  guess  what  it  was 
all  about. 

"I  might  do  so  as  well  as  another,"  he  made 
answer;  "do  you  think  would  the  sisther  try 
me?" 

And  to  think  that  marrying  was  the  last  thing 
he  had  in  his  mind,  when  he  began  lifting  the  pig's 
pot,  just  a  minute  or  so  before !  But  Mickey  had  it 
all  laid  out,  and  he  did  not  care  a  straw  who  got 
Julia  so  long  as  she  would  clear  out  of  the  house  and 
leave  him  free  to  bring  in  a  wife. 

"Ye  have  a  house,  ye  tell  me?"  he  said  to 
Peetcheen. 

"  I  have,  so!  and  not  a  soul  in  it,  only  me  mother, 
and  she  the  quietest  creature!" 

"How  much  land?"  asked  Heffernan. 

Why  he  said  that,  is  hard  to  know!  Of  course 
he  must  have  had  some  notion  of  the  way  it  was 
with  the  Caffreys,  he  living  so  long  in  the  place. 
Still,  it  was  always  hard  to  tell  what  Mickey  knew 


The  ''Rest  of  Him"  73 

or  did  not  know !  And  he  may  have  been  trying 
to  make  out  to  himself  that  he  really  thought  he 
was  making  a  good  match  for  Julia. 

"  I  never  got  the  land  measured, "  said  Peetcheen. 
You  would  think  he  was  humoiiring  the  thing. 
"I  never  got  it  measured;  but  there's  no  rent  to 
be  paid." 

Measured  indeed!  and  rent  to  be  paid,  and  for 
what?  A  bare  patch  of  weeds  by  the  roadside 
that  would  not  be  enough  to  sod  a  lark! 

Heffernan  smoked  on,  and  then  Peetcheen  began 
questioning  in  his  turn,  "How  much  are  you  offer- 
ing, with  the  two  heifers?" 

In  fact,  the  boy  did  not  know  if  he  was  standing 
on  his  head  or  his  heels!  To  hear  himself  being 
bid  up  in  marriage  like  that !  And  for  a  wife  with 
a  fortime  of  her  own! 

"Thirty  poimd!"  said  Heffernan. 

"Forty!"  said  Peetcheen,  very  determined. 

"Thirty  and  no  more!" 

"Forty  and  no  less!" 

Well,  in  the  long  rxm,  they  split  the  difference 
between  them,  and  settled  the  business  then  and 
there.  Heffernan  wrote  off  to  the  sister,  telling  her 
that  he  was  as  good  as  married  himself  and  that  he 
had  a  fine  match  made  up  for  her,  too;  and  she 


74  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

was  to  make  no  delay,  for  fear  the  boy  might 
change  his  mind,  and  go  off  without  waiting  to  see 
her. 

Julia  came  on  at  once.  And  when  she  saw  how 
things  were  shaping,  of  course  she  had  a  good  deal 
to  say  at  first.  But  then  she  bethought  her  that 
she  might  do  worse  than  settle  herself.  She  was 
getting  on  in  years.  And  the  cousins  that  she  had 
been  with  in  Dublin  used  to  be  talking  about  old 
maids,  and  that  bachelors  must  be  very  scarce  in 
Ardenoo !  It  was  more  than  ever  Mickey  expected 
that  she  would  give  in  so  easily  as  she  did,  without 
making  any  great  objection  to  Peetcheen,  who,  of 
coiurse,  was  no  great  things  for  one  of  the  Heffernans 
to  take  up  with.  But  she  gave  in  to  take  him. 
Heffernan  and  Peetcheen  sprung  the  thing  on  her 
suddenly,  and  she  was  taken  unawares,  as  you'll 
see  it  done  with  a  baulking  horse.  You  can  trick 
him  into  taking  a  jump  that  he  has  refused  many  a 
time  before,  if  you  bring  him  up  to  it  without  his 
knowing  what  you  want. 

Mickey  had  the  wit  to  make  the  best  of  Peet- 
cheen, by  advancing  him  the  price  of  a  new  suit  of 
clothes,  and  tan  boots  and  even  gloves,  to  be 
married  in.  He  wasn't  able  to  get  them  on,  the 
gloves,  I  mean.     But  they  had  a  very  neat  appear- 


The  ''Rest  of  Him"  75 

ance.  Maybe  they  gave  Julia  more  satisfaction 
than  anything  else  that  her  fortune  was  spent  on. 
For  of  course  it  was  out  of  her  money  that  Mickey 
paid  for  the  fine  clothes  for  Peetcheen. 

The  wedding  passed  off  all  right,  and  Mickey 
behaved  very  well,  and  threw  in  a  jennet  and  cart, 
along  with  the  money  and  the  two  heifers.  And 
he  allowed  Jiilia  to  load  up  the  cart  with  any 
mortal  thing  she  chose  to  lay  claim  to  in  the  place ; 
even  to  the  churn  and  the  griddle.  He  did  that, 
the  way  she  would  have  no  excuse  for  coming  back 
and  maybe  making  impleasantness  when  he'd 
have  his  own  woman  at  the  Furry  Farm. 

It  was  a  satisfaction  to  him  to  know  that  there 
would  be  a  good  few  miles  between  him  and  the 
sister,  once  she  was  Mrs.  Peetcheen.  And  when  he 
saw  them  safely  started,  Peetcheen  driving  the 
heifers,  and  Julia  sitting  upon  a  stool  in  the  cart, 
with  all  the  things  round  her,  "Glory  be!  I  never 
thought  to  get  shut  of  her  so  simple!"  said 
Heffeman.  "But  God  help  poor  Peetcheen,  I 
pray!" 

Peetcheen  wovdd  have  been  surprised,  if  he  had 
heard  that  word  said.  It  was  only  too  contented 
he  was,  and  he  stepping  out  very  proudly.  The 
new  clothes  would  hardly  hold  him  and  his  satis- 


76  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

faction,  when  he  thought  of  how  well  he  was  doing 
for  himself. 

"What  will  the  neighbours  say  to  me  now?'* 
he  was  thinking,  "going  off  the  way  I  did,  too 
thankful  to  any  one  that  would  give  me  a  day's 
work!  And  look  at  me  now!  with  the  two  beasts, 
and  the  wife  and  all!  Sure,  it's  little  I  ever 
thought  to  see  the  day  I'd  have  such  things!" 

And  then  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
try  not  to  be  too  uppish  with  the  old  friends,  when 
they  would  be  passing  him  the  time  of  day.  He 
determined  to  answer  them  very  nice  and  civil, 
when  they  would  ask  him,  "How's  yourself, 
Peetcheen,  and  how's  the  rest  of  you?" 

Then  he  began  to  think  of  the  old  mother,  and 
that  he  would  like  to  make  her  comfortable.  A 
new  shawl,  he  thought;  and  how  well  she  could  sit 
in  the  big  arm-chair  that  was  the  full-up  of  the  cart 
that  Julia  was  driving,  very  nearly. 

He  turned  to  look  at  it,  because  he  was  in  front 
of  the  cart  with  the  cattle,  and  the  jennet  was 
slow,  with  all  the  big  load  that  was  on  her.  Still, 
Peetcheen  thought  the  whole  thing  was  just  behind 
him.  But  behold  ye!  sight  nor  light  of  cart,  or 
jennet,  or  Jiilia  even  he  coiildn't  see!  It  was  as  if 
the  ground  had  opened  and  swallowed  them  down ! 


The  "Rest  of  Him"  77 

He  did  not  know  what  in  the  wide  world  to 
think.  There  he  stood,  looking  up  the  road  and 
down  the  road  .  .  .  as  if  Julia  could  be  coming 
any  way  except  after  him !  for  how  could  she  have 
got  on  ahead  without  his  knowing?  But  that  was 
Peetcheen  all  over. 

He  thought  he  never  saw  anything  so  lonesome 
and  silent  as  the  same  road,  lying  still  before  and 
behind  him,  and  white  with  dust.  It  was  the 
summer  season  of  the  year. 

"If  I  go  back,"  thought  he  to  himself,  "I'm 
very  apt  to  be  missing  her  at  some  cross-roads! 
It's  what  she  has  took  the  wrong  turn  at  one 
of  them,  and  not  too  far  back  ...  it  can't  be! 
for  it's  not  long  since  she  got  me  to  steady  the 
churn-dash  in  the  back  of  the  cart,  the  way  it 
wouldn't  be  prodding  into  her  back.  The  first 
man  she  meets  will  set  her  right.  In  any  case, 
I'd  have  little  to  do,  to  go  look  for  her  ..." 
(and  indeed  Peetcheen  was  right  there!)  "for  I'd 
have  to  take  the  two  little  heifers  with  me.  And 
that  might  be  putting  a  couple  of  miles  more  travel- 
ling on  them.  They'll  be  slaved  and  tired  enough, 
against  I  have  them  home.  And  if  I  was  to  leave 
them  here  by  themselves,  while  I'd  be  going  back 
for  her,  mightn't  I  be  summonsed?    That  wouldn't 


78  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

answer!  No!  it's  better  for  me  to  wait  here  and 
see  won't  she  come  along  all  right.  And  there  is 
lots  of  good  grass,  that  the  cattle  can  be  having  a 
little  fossick^  for  themselves  and  a  rest." 

Peetcheen  was  right  in  this.  There  was  plenty 
of  feeding  for  the  beasts  there,  going  to  loss,  that 
they  might  as  well  have.  Besides,  when  two 
people  go  astray  from  one  another,  the  best  chance 
they  have  of  coming  together  again  is  for  one  of 
them  to  stop  still.  Peetcheen  was  thick  in  the 
wits,  but  he  thought  of  this.  Besides,  to  do 
nothing  was  the  easiest  for  him.  So  he  just  sat 
down  on  a  fine  dry  heap  of  stones  that  was  lying 
there  ready  for  the  road-contractor,  filled  his 
pipe,  and  began  to  smoke.     He  might  as  well. 

He  had  not  finished  that  pipe  altogether,  when 
he  heard  the  sound  of  wheels.  Along  came  the 
jennet,  and  Julia  hard  at  work,  prodding  him  with 
the  point  of  her  umbrella,  with  her  face  very  red, 
and  her  hair  all  every  way.  It  didn't  cool  her  a 
bit,  to  see  Peetcheen  sitting  at  his  ease,  with  his 
pipe,  in  the  shade  of  a  fine  ash-tree. 

"Where  were  you  at  all,"  he  said,  getting  up 
quite  slowly  off  the  stones;  "and  what  ailed  you, 
to  be  so  long  after  me  upon  the  road?" 

•Feed. 


The  "Rest  of  Him"  79 

"What  ailed  me,  indeed!"  said  the  wife; 
"much  you  care!  Stravaguing  on  there  in  front 
of  me,  without  a  thought  of  what  was  becoming 
of  me  and  the  jennet.  And  I  bawHn'  me  livin* 
best  when  I  got  to  the  cross-roads,  and  couldn't 
get  you  to  hear!  How  was  I  to  know  which  way 
you  went?  Faith,  I  was  in  two  minds  to  go  off 
back  home  again!  only  for  you  having  the  two 
little  heifers !  And  you  lettin'  on  not  to  hear  me ! 
Is  it  deaf  you  are,  along  with  everything  else? 
And  then  the  jennet,  to  take  and  go  stop  on  me, 
and  I  with  the  full-up  of  me  lap  of  me  good  cups 
and  saucers,  so  that  I  wasn't  able  to  stir,  to  get 
any  good  of  the  beast !  And  then  he  gives  a  h'ise, 
and  me  fine  big  crock,  that  I  have  this  ten  years 
and  was  bringing  it  with  me,  got  bruk  in  two 
halves !  And  you,  standin'  there,  with  yer  mouth 
open  .    .    .    !" 

As  if  shutting  his  mouth  would  mend  her 
crockery!  But  it  vexed  Julia  the  more,  that 
Peetcheen  said  nothing. 

"To  the  mischief  with  the  whole  of  them!  and 
you,  too!"  she  said,  then;  and  began  flinging  the 
rest  of  the  crockery  at  Peetcheen,  as  hard  as  she 
could;  at  least,  that  was  what  she  thought  of. 
But  of  coiirse  she  didn't  hit  him;  a  woman  never 


8o  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

does;  the  thing  she  aims  for  is  the  last  thing  she'll 
strike.  But  she  fired  one  after  the  other,  pell- 
mell,  till  she  had  all  the  cups  smashed.  And  what 
else  could  she  expect  of  cups  fltmg  about  like  that? 
I  don't  know;  only  when  she  saw  them  in  bits,  she 
turned  queer,  and  dropped  down  into  the  bottom 
of  the  cart,  and  began  to  laugh  and  cry  all  to- 
gether, as  if  she  was  mad. 

The  sight  of  this  cowed  Peetcheen.  He  stooped 
down,  and  began  turning  over  the  bits  of  crockery, 
to  see  if  e'er  a  one  of  them  had  escaped.  But  no ! 
Not  a  cup  or  plate  of  all  Julia's  set  but  was  broken 
into  smithereens. 

Peetcheen  still  said  nothing.  He  took  the 
jennet  by  the  head,  started  the  cattle  on  again, 
and  followed  himself  with  the  cart. 


Now,  I  must  explain  that  this  wedding  took 
place  so  suddenly,  that  no  more  than  what  we  call 
in  Ardenoo  a  "sketch"  of  it  had  gone  round  among 
the  people.  And  even  that  had  not  reached  old 
Mrs.  Caifrey  at  all.  So  that  she  had  not  had  the 
slightest  warning  of  what  to  expect,  at  the  very 
time  that  Peetcheen  and  the  wife  were  making 
their  way  towards  her. 


The  "Rest  of  Him"  8i 

It  was  late  in  the  day.  She  and  Dark  Moll  were 
out — sitting  by  the  roadside,  watching  a  clutch  of 
young  ducks  just  out  of  the  shell,  when  they  heard 
a  noise,  and  looked  round,  to  see,  first  the  two 
heifers,  and  then  the  jennet  and  cart,  with  Peet- 
cheen  leading  them,  and  Julia  seated  up  in  state, 
driving  along.  She  had  come  to  pretty  well  by 
that  time.  People  that  have  tempers  are  often 
like  that.  They'll  be  mad  one  minute,  and  abusing 
you  into  the  ground,  and  before  you  have  had  time 
to  take  in  all  they  were  saying,  they  are  ready  to 
forget  it,  and  be  quite  agreeable  again.  Moreover, 
they  expect  you  to  do  the  same,  which  is  not  so 
simple  a  matter  as  they  think. 

However,  Peetcheen  was  very  peaceable.  As 
was  usual  with  him,  he  had  never  made  Julia  an 
answer.  She  had  quieted  down  by  degrees,  so 
that  now  he  was  enabled  to  explain  the  thing  to  his 
mother  with  some  appearance  of  comfort. 

The  poor  mother !  She  couldn't  believe  her  eyes 
nor  her  ears  either  almost,  when  she  saw  this  pro- 
cession drawing  up  before  her  door,  and  Peet- 
cheen saying,  "Well,  mother!  here  I  am!  back  to 
you!  and  bringing  in  a  new  dauther,  in  the  place 
of  all  them  that's  gone  off  'on*  you.  Her  and  me 
is  after  getting  marrit!"  he  ended. 


82  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

Mrs.  Caffrey  stared  at  him,  and  then  at  Jiilia 
and  all  the  belongings  she  had  around  her.  But  all 
she  could  get  out  was,  "She's  kindly  welcome  in 
these  parts!"  before  she  fell  into  a  kind  of  a  weak- 
ness, and  staggered,  so  that  Peetcheen  had  to  go 
forward  to  help  her  back  into  the  house,  while  the 
wife  was  busy  seeing  to  the  things  she  had  in  the 
cart. 

Dark  Moll  was  looking  on  at  all  this,  but  no  one 
took  much  notice  of  her.  So  by  that  she  guessed 
that  she  was  not  wanted  there,  and  made  up  her 
mind  to  slip  away.  She  gathered  up  her  little 
possessions,  and  went  off  at  once  to  another  stop- 
ping-place she  had,  not  far  away.  And  that  is  how 
it  happened  that  no  one  knew  much  at  first  about 
what  had  taken  place,  when  the  new  Mrs.  Caffrey 
appeared  upon  the  scene,  or  how  the  old  woman 
took  to  the  notion  of  a  daughter-in-law  in  her 
home. 

But  Moll  took  the  first  opportunity  of  making 
her  way  back  to  the  Caffreys';  and  blind  and  all 
as  she  was,  there  was  not  a  pin's-worth  about  the 
place  that  she  could  not  tell  about,  and  give  as  good 
an  accoimt  of  it  all  as  if  she  had  the  full  use  of  her 
eyes. 

"The  new  woman  that  Peetcheen's  after  bring- 


The  ''Rest  of  Him"  83 

ing  home,  is  it?"  she  said;  "a  very  agreeable- 
spoken  person  she  is!" 

Julia  could  be  all  that  when  she  chose. 

"  Butter  wouldn't  melt  in  her  mouth,  I  believe, " 
said  Big  Cusack,  who  was  talking  to  her.  He  was 
as  proud  as  Pimch  to  know  that  Julia  was  gone  out 
of  the  Furry  Farm.  For  then  he  thought  there 
need  not  be  much  delay  about  Heffeman's  own 
marriage;  and  Cusack  had  a  niece  of  his  own, 
Kitty  Dempsey  by  name,  that  he  wanted  to  make 
up  a  match  for.  Kitty  was  only  a  young  slip  of 
a  thing,  but  there  was  a  bit  of  land  she  was  to 
come  in  for;  and  her  Uncle  Cusack,  being  an 
experiented  man,  thought  Heffeman  would  be 
more  suitable  for  her,  nor  any  yoimg  boy,  on  that 
account. 

"She's  as  sweet  as  you  please,  that  wife  of 
Peetcheen's,  by  all  a  body  hears,"  he  went  on; 
and  then  he  added,  "but  there's  such  a  thing  as 
being  too  sweet  to  be  wholesome!  She's  none  too 
young,  either!  A  chicken  her  age  won't  die  with 
the  pip!" 

"No,"  said  Moll,  "nor  tear  in  the  plucking! 
But  sure,  a  boy  like  Peetcheen  couldn't  be  too 
partickler!" 

"You're  right  there,"  says  Big  Cusack;  "and 


84  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

he  wid  a  head  upon  him  that  you'd  think  should 
fizz,  if  he  put  it  into  could  water,  it's  that  red! 
And  the  mouth  of  him !  the  same  as  if  it  was  made 
wid  a  blow  of  a  shovel!  Isn't  he  great,  that  got  a 
wife  at  all!  let  alone  the  forchune.  And  has  the 
two  heifers  at  grass  on  my  farm ;  and  persuades  the 
wife  that  the  field  they're  grazing  on  belongs  to 
himself!  Peetcheen  may  be  slow,  but  he's  no 
such  a  fool  as  the  people  make  him  out!" 

That  was  how  Cusack  spoke  of  him;  and  indeed, 
it  was  wonderful,  all  the  praise  you'd  hear  of 
Peetcheen  now,  very  different  from  what  it  was 
before  he  went  away,  when  every  one  would  be 
making  a  hare  of  him.  He  himself  would  walk 
about,  very  important,  going  over  to  "have  a  look 
at  the  stock,"  as  if  that  would  make  them  fatten 
any  faster.  And  the  way  he  would  give  a  cock  to 
his  cavbeen  when  he'd  meet  a  neighbour,  and  pass 
the  time  of  the  day  with  him !  And  on  a  Sunday, 
to  see  him  yoking  up  the  jennet,  to  drive  to  Mass, 
feeling  as  good  as  the  best!  In  fact,  after  a  bit, 
the  neighbours  began  to  laugh  at  him  again.  It 
might  have  been  jealousy. 

"Cock  him  up,  indeed!"  Big  Cusack  said,  when 
he  had  time  to  take  this  all  in;  "letting  on  he's  a 
gintleman,  all  out,  Peetcheen  is!  with  nothing  to 


The  "Rest  of  Him"  85 

do,  only  ait  his  food !  And  in  troth,  the  sorra  long 
it  will  take  them,  to  ait  whatever  forchune  the 
wife  brought  into  the  place!  It  wasn't  much,  I'll 
go  bail!  There  never  was  a  Heffeman  yet  that 
would  part  money  without  a  wrangle  for  it;  and 
Mickey  the  same!" 

AU  this  was  true ;  but  nothing  seemed  to  trouble 
Peetcheen.  He  spent  the  time  the  way  I  tell  you ; 
never  appearing  to  imagine  there  was  any  necessity 
for  him  to  do  anything  more  than  that. 

But  he  had  the  wife  to  reckon  with.  She  was  of 
a  very  different  way  of  thinking,  and  she  very  soon 
let  him  know  her  mind. 

"What  way  is  this  to  be  going  on?"  she  would 
say,  "for  a  man  to  be  at  home  here  imder  a  body's 
feet  from  morning  to  night,  as  if  the  place  wasn't 
small  enough,  and  in  partickler  since  I  brought 
me  own  good  fumicher  into  it!  Hard-set  I'll  be, 
ever  to  get  meself  used  to  the  likes  of  this  house 
you  brought  me  to!" 

Julia  was  right  enough  in  saying  this.  The 
Cafireys'  place  was  very  small  and  poor,  compared 
to  the  Furry  farmhouse,  where  she  was  reared. 
And  her  things  did  crowd  it  up.  The  big  chair 
alone  took  up  the  whole  side  of  the  fire.  But  as 
well  as  that,  she  was  only  saying  what  was  true, 


86  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

when  she  spoke  of  Peetcheen  sitting  at  home  all 
day,  as  he  had  the  fashion  of  doing. 

When  she  would  attack  him  about  this,  and 
ask  him,  if  there  was  no  job  wanting  to  be  done 
about  his  own  place,  why  wouldn't  he  go  look  for 
work  with  a  neighbour,  Peetcheen  always  had  an 
answer  ready. 

"Sure  there's  no  work  going,  these  times!  I 
must  wait  till  the  haymaking  comes  on.  Then 
there  will  be  good  pay  to  be  earned.  The  meadows 
is  nigh-hand  ripe  this  minute!" 

So  they  were;  Julia  could  see  that  for  herself. 
But  when  Peetcheen  went  to  Big  Cusack  to  ask 
for  a  job  at  the  hay,  he  heard  that  all  the  work 
had  been  laid  out,  and  no  more  hands  were  needed. 

"And  didn't  I  think, "  said  Cusack  to  him,  "  that 
you  were  too  big  a  man,  all  out,  now,  to  take  a  fork 
in  your  fist ;  and  you  with  the  rich  wife  and  all!" 

Peetcheen  made  no  answer  to  this.  He  just 
went  over  to  a  shady  spot,  and  sat  down  there,  to 
watch  the  work  going  on ;  went  home  to  his  dinner, 
and  then  back  with  him  to  the  hay -field,  till  quit- 
ting-time  that  night. 

That  contented  Julia.  And  when  she  asked  him 
for  his  week's  pay  from  Big  Cusack,  to  go  to  the 
Shop,  he  saw  no  occasion  to  explain  to  her  that 


The  ''Rest  of  Him"  87 

it  was  out  of  her  own  money,  that  Heffernan  had 
handed  to  him  in  the  old  stocking,  that  she  was 
getting  it.  It  satisfied  her,  and  a  man  will  do  a 
great  deal  for  peace  and  quietness. 

What  you  do  once,  comesvery  easy  the  next  time. 
By  this  kind  of  management,  Peetcheen  put  the 
next  few  months  over  him  very  nice  and  handy. 
Haymaking,  and  harvest,  and  turf -cutting,  all 
happened  along  for  his  convenience.  He  could  go 
off,  when  any  of  them  were  on,  and  lob  about 
through  the  neighbourhood.  I  won't  say  that  he 
never  did  a  tap  of  work;  he  might,  have,  now  and 
then.  But  it  was  seldom  the  like  happened  to 
him. 

This  was  all  well  and  good,  as  far  as  Peetcheen 
himself  was  concerned.  But  Julia  was  the  sort 
of  woman  that  never  can  be  easy.  No !  and  what's 
more  never  can  let  any  one  else  be,  either.  So 
when  Peetcheen  kept  out  of  her  way,  and  she  hadn't 
the  excuse  of  him  and  his  ways,  she  began  to  turn 
on  the  poor  old  mother.  A  stirring,  active  little 
woman  she  was  herself.  Julia  would  have  the 
kettle  boiling  and  the  tea  wet,  while  another  would 
be  thinking  of  where  to  look  for  a  bit  of  firing. 
But  if  she  was  quick  itself,  that  was  no  reason  for 
her  to  go  on  the  way  she  did  to  old  Mrs.  Caffrey. 


88  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"Give  me  that  besom,  here!"  she  said  to  her 
one  morning,  snatching  the  broom  out  of  the  old 
woman's  hand,  and  giving  her  a  shove  towards 
the  door ;  "  be  off  out,  and  gether  some  kindling  for 
the  fire!  that  work  is  all  you're  fit  for!  Sick  and 
tired  I  do  be,  looking  at  ye;  and  you  not  done 
sweeping  the  flure  yet!" 

"God  be  wid  the  time  I  was  young  and  strong; 
and  able  to  sweep  a  flure  wid  any  one!"  says 
Peetcheen's  mother. 

"It's  a  long  time  ago,  if  ever  you  were!"  said 
Julia.  "Be  off  wid  yourself  now,  and  see  can  ye 
meet  the  higgler,  and  get  him  to  come  and  buy 
them  ould  hens  of  yours!  Sorra  bit  can  I  give  to 
me  own  good  Longshanks  and  Speckled  Humbugs 
but  what  them  ould  scarecrows  of  yours  has  it  all 
ettonthem!" 

"There's  no  price  goin'  now  for  ould  hens, "  said 
old  Mrs.  Caffrey;  "and  besides,  I'm  thinking  it's 
what  they  have  a  mind  to  go  lay  .  .  .  and  eggs 
dear.    ..." 

"They'll  lay  none  here,  whether  or  which!" 
Julia  said;  "lay,  indeed!  They  wouldn't  know 
an  egg,  if  they  saw  one!" 

"There's  one  tidy  little  hayro  of  a  hen,  her  with 
the  top-knot,  that  I'd  have  a  great  wish  for.   .    .   ." 


The  "Rest  of  Him"  89 

"Don't  mind  your  wishing!  they'll  all  go;  so 
now,  mind  what  I'm  telling  ye!"  said  Julia.  And 
so  they  did. 

"Bitther  and  wicked  wid  her  tongue  she  is!'* 
old  Mrs.  Caffrey  would  say;  but  only  to  herself. 
She  wouldn't  fret  Peetcheen  for  the  world,  the 
poor  boy! 

To  give  Julia  her  due,  she  was,  as  Dark  Moll  said, 
"a  most  notorious  rairer  of  fowl  of  every  descrip- 
tion." She  had  money  from  the  higgler  laid  by 
already.  But  because  she  was  lucky  herself  was 
no  reason  for  her  to  jeer  at  the  old  woman,  when  a 
while  afterwards,  the  little  ducks  that  were  out 
just  the  day  Julia  came  there  all  died,  one  after 
another. 

"What  else  could  you  expect,  and  they  June 
birds?  "  she  said.  "  No  one  only  a  born  fool  wotild 
try  to  have  them  hatched  then!" 

Julia  was  right  there,  and  in  many  another 
notion  that  she  brought  with  her  from  the  Fiury 
Farm.  But  people  don't  always  care  so  very  much 
for  new  ways  being  forced  on  them.  Peetcheen 
and  his  mother  above  all  were  not  fond  of  changes. 
Julia  would  have  a  dinner  of  a  Sunday  that,  as  she 
said,  "a  lord  might  be  proud  to  sit  down  before!" 
a  pig's  face  on  a  bolster  of  greens,  it  might  be,  or 


90  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

something  like  that.  But  no  one  would  have  much 
wish  for  it,  because  there  would  always  be  so  much 
argument  and  scolding  over  it  all. 

They  would  have  had  far  more  comfort  in  the  old 
times,  with  nothing  better  than  potatoes  and  salt, 
and  maybe  a  bit  of  bacon  or  a  salt  herring,  by  way 
of  "kitchen. "  Old  Mrs.  Caffrey  would  give  you  a 
pleasant  word  with  whatever  she  was  sharing  round 
and  that  helps  out  a  short  dinner ;  what  mostly  was 
what  she  had,  God  help  her! 

However,  it  was  Julia  that  ruled  the  roast  at 
Caffreys'  the  time  I  speak  of,  and  the  rest  of  them 
had  just  to  make  the  best  of  it.  And  it's  a  true 
saying,  "Money  makes  the  mare  to  go!"  Of 
course  every  one  had  to  give  in  to  Julia  on  account 
of  the  fortune  she  had. 

Peetcheen  stood  it  out  pretty  well,  as  long  as 
there  was  a  penny  at  all  left  in  the  old  stocking. 
But  when  the  baby  came,  the  money  had  to  be 
handed  out  very  free.  Before  he  knew  where  he 
was,  the  stocking  was  empty;  and  Peetcheen,  as 
usual,  without  a  job.  Not  that  that  was  any  great 
heart-break  to  him. 

He  was  stravaguing  along  the  road  one  evening 
by  himself,  with  the  pipe  in  his  mouth.  It  was 
lovely  weather;  the  birds  all  singing,  and  the  grass 


The  "Rest  of  Him"  91 

getting  long  and  green  on  every  side.  He  was 
turning  over  in  his  mind  about  the  potato-patch 
he  had;  how  would  he  get  to  pay  for  the  seed? 
and  weren't  the  weeds  very  high  in  it?  and  would 
he  have  to  go  work  in  it  himself?  when  he  saw 
Dark  Moll,  sitting  by  the  side  of  the  road,  very 
comfortably.  Of  course  he  stopped  and  began  to 
pass  the  time  of  day  with  her. 

"How's  all  wid  ye,  Peetcheen?"  asks  Moll; 
"and  above  all,  the  woman  that  owns  ye?  And 
the  young  son?  and  a  darling  fine  boy  he  must  be, 
by  all  I  can  hear!" 

"They're  well,  I  thank  you  and  God, "  answered 
Peetcheen;  "and  me  mother,  that  proud  out  of  the 
child !  You'd  think  no  one  ever  had  a  child  before, 
and  she  after  rairing  ten  of  her  own!  And  this 
minute,  she's  leppin'  mad  to  begin  again!" 

"Ay!  there's  the  way!"  said  Moll. 

Peetcheen  smoked  on  a  bit;  and  then  says  he, 
"A  terrible  expense  this  is,  on  a  man!" 

"You  may  say  that,  agra!"  said  Moll;  though 
well  she  knew  in  her  heart  that  there  had  been  no 
christening  worth  mentioning  at  Caflreys'.  The 
old  woman  was  all  for  a  bit  of  a  spree,  but  Julia 
would  not  hear  of  it;  "spending  the  money  on 
foolishness  that  could  be  put  to  better  use!"  was 


92  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

what  she  said.  The  neighbours  knew  well  how 
it  was.  But  Moll  didn't  want  to  pass  any  remarks 
about  the  thing,  seeing  she  might  be  looking  for 
help  to  the  Caffreys,  any  day;  and  it  wouldn't 
answer  to  be  offensive.  So  she  only  went  on  to 
say,  "Sure  the  likes  of  you  needn't  mind  a  few 
shillings,  here  nor  there,  when  it's  the  first,  and  a 
son!  And  you  with  them  fine  bastes  at  grass.  .  .  . 
I  hear  they're  the  talk  of  the  town,  and  a  fine  price 
they'd  go  at  the  fair  to-morrow,  if  it  was  a  thing 
you'd  have  a  mind  to  go  sell  them  there. " 

Moll  said  all  this,  because  she  felt  vexed  with 
Julia,  not  being  asked  to  the  christening,  such  as  it 
was.  Besides,  from  the  start,  Julia  let  her  see  very 
plain  that  she  didn't  want  her  coming  about  the 
house  whenever  she  fancied,  and  taking  up  a  seat 
in  the  chimney-corner,  as  she  had  the  fashion  of 
doing.  And  Moll  did  not  like  getting  the  cold 
shoulder  that  way,  no  more  than  any  of  us  would; 
and  she  missed  Caffreys',  having  been  so  used  to  it. 
Still,  she  had  no  meaning  in  what  she  had  said 
about  the  fair  and  the  stock,  and  all  that.  But 
see  what  came  of  that  word ! 

Peetcheen  bid  Moll  the  time  of  day,  and  went  on. 
It  was  to  Big  Cusack's  he  was  making  his  way, 
thinking  he  might  happen  on  a  job  there,  or  settle 


The  "Rest  of  Him'  93 

something  about  help  to  do  his  own  work.  But 
the  Big  Man  was  from  home.  Peetcheen  could 
have  found  that  out,  without  going  there,  only- 
he  never  thought  of  inquiring.  So  then  he  wavered 
off  to  MeUa's,  thinking  that  he  might  meet  some 
one  there  that  would  give  him  an  advice  about  the 
thing. 

He  found  a  few  comrade  boys  of  his  in  the  she- 
been, playing  Twenty-five.  He  joined  in,  with 
whatever  few  coppers  he  had  left.  It  took  a  long 
time,  before  they  finished  their  game,  so  that  it  was 
pretty  late  when  he  got  home.  But  that  was  all 
the  wrong  he  did.  He  had  no  drink  taken.  There 
wasn't  a  hair  turned  on  him,  when  he  walked  into 
the  house,  so  why  Julia  should  be  so  raging  mad 
with  him,  no  one  could  tell.  But  she  was  and 
abused  him  up  and  down  the  banks ;  called  him  all 
the  fools  she  could  lay  her  tongue  to;  and  still  in  all 
Peetcheen  never  said  a  word  back  to  her. 

But  at  last  he  got  worn  out,  and  left  the  house, 
thinking  she  might  have  a  better  chance  to  qmet 
down  if  he  wasn't  there.  So  he  turned  back  to 
Cusack's,  and  spent  the  night  in  the  Big  Man's 
bam. 

Before  he  settled  off  to  sleep,  he  had  time  to 
think  over  all  that  was  after  occurring;  the  wife 


94  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

to  be  so  contrary  with  him,  and  all  for  nonsense,  as 
a  body  might  say.  And  then  he  considered  over 
how  short  the  money  was  with  him;  and  where 
would  he  turn  for  the  next  few  shillings  Jul  a  would 
be  wanting  from  him.  And  then  he  got  on  to 
remembering  what  Dark  Moll  was  after  saying. 

He  fell  asleep,  however,  before  very  long;  and 
wakened  up  bright  and  early,  with  a  great  plan  in 
his  head. 

This  was,  that  he  would  drive  off  one  of  the 
two  heifers  that  he  had  got  in  Julia's  fortune,  to 
the  fair  that  Dark  Moll  was  after  reminding  him 
of;  and  a  big  price  she  brought.  But  Peetcheen 
and  the  likes  of  him  often  have  great  luck. 

After  that  had  come  to  pass,  a  strange  thing 
happened.  For  what  Peetcheen  did  with  himself, 
or  with  the  money  that  the  people  standing  by  saw 
him  getting  paid  into  his  hand,  was  more  than 
any  one  at  Ardenoo  knew,  for  many  a  long  day,  if 
ever  they  did.  He  just  disappeared,  so  he  did,  as 
if  the  Good  People  took  him  out  of  it. 

"Isn't  it  a  fright,  all  out, "  the  neighbours  would 
say,  "to  see  how  a  decent  quiet  man  like  Peetcheen 
could  go  out  of  that,  and  not  one  be  able  to  give 
any  account  of  him  to  the  wife  or  the  poor  ould 
mother!" 


The  ''Rest  of  Him"  95 

Julia  was  most  outrageous;  at  first  very  angry, 
and  then  took  to  fretting.  But  the  old  woman  was 
twice  as  bad.  God  help  her!  she  grew  to  be  like 
nothing  so  much  as  a  ha'porth  of  soap  after  the 
week's  washing. 

She  was  out  along  the  road  one  day,  with  the 
baby  in  her  arms,  when  Dark  Moll  happened  along, 
and  of  course  began  to  chat;  why  not? 

"And  so  that's  Peetcheen's  first,  is  it?"  she  says; 
"let  me  feel  him  in  me  arrums!  och,  the  weight 
of  him!  the  darlint  fine  lump  of  a  gossoon  that  he 
is!  "Well,  and  how's  all  goin'  on  wid  yiz  these 
times!" 

"Not  goin'  on  at  all!"  says  Mrs.  Caffrey; 
"heart-scalded  I  do  be,  wid  the  frettin'  and  annoy- 
ance and  thinkin'  that  it's  murthered  me  poor  boy 
must  be,  and  he  wid  the  price  of  the  heifer  in  his 
pocket!" 

"Och!  murthered-how-are-ye!"  says  Moll,  very 
confident  in  herself;  "no!  no  such  a  thing!  It's 
what  he  has  went  off  to  America!  He'll  be 
sendin'  yous  back  plenty  of  money  out  of  it,  I'll 
go  bail!" 

"Do  ye  tell  me  that?"  said  the  mother,  bright- 
ening up  as  Moll  talked  on  about  it  all.  The  old 
woman  was  getting  a  bit  hard  of  hearing  at  that 


96  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

time;  and  she  took  it  up  that  Peetcheen  had  told 
Moll  that  he  was  going. 

"Well,  that's  the  best  I  could  wish  to  hear,  if 
it's  a  thing  that  he  wasn't  going  to  contint  him- 
self here  at  home  with  us ;  and  too  sure  I  am  that 
he'll  do  well  .  .  .  ay,  and  won't  forget  his  poor 
mother.  ..." 

Jiilia  comes  up  to  them,  and  whips  the  child 
from  Moll,  the  same  as  if  she  was  dirt  and  not  fit 
to  touch  him.  That  vexed  Moll;  small  blame  to 
her!  So  when  old  Mrs.  Caffrey  began  reeling  out 
of  her  all  that  she  imagined  Moll  had  said  .  ,  . 
and  a  bit  more  that  she  didn't  say  .  .  .  such  as 
that  poor  Peetcheen  was  working  hard  there  beyant 
to  send  home  money  to  them,  Moll  never  put  her 
right.  The  old  mother  related  it  quite  cheerfully, 
thinking  it  would  pacify  Julia.  But  it  didn't. 
You  never  saw  so  vexed  a  person. 

"So,  that's  where  the  price  of  me  fine  heifer  is 
gone!"  said  Julia;  "and  I  that  had  him  dead! 
drowned  in  a  bog-hole  .  .  .  ormurthered.  .  .  . 
Breakin'  me  heart  I  was,  about  a  villyin  of  the 
soart!  Well  .  .  .  all  I  know  is,  them  that  thinks 
I'm  goin'  to  stop  here  and  rair  Peter  Caffrey's 
babby  for  him  is  in  a  great  mistake!  I'll  not  do 
it !    I'll  go  after  him,  before  I'm  many  days  older ! " 


The  "Rest  of  Him"  97 

"  Is  it  go  to  America?  Stire,  woman  dear,  you'd 
never  find  him!  You  might  as  well  go  look  for  a 
needle  in  a  haystack.  America  is  a  middlin'  big 
place,  mind  ye!"  said  Moll. 

No  one  knew  better  than  Moll  how  to  get  round 
people.  She  was  that  clever,  she  could  knot  eels, 
the  people  said.  She  knew  what  a  foolish  notion 
it  was  of  Julia's,  to  go  off  to  America;  and  that 
Julia  herself  would  soon  cool  on  it,  if  she  was  let 
alone.     So  that's  why  she  contradicted  her. 

"Fitter  far,  ay,  and  decenter,  too,  for  a  woman 
like  you  to  stay  where  you're  well  off,  in  your  good 
home,  with  Peetcheen's  mother  for  company,  and 
Peetcheen's  babby  to  be  lookin'  at.    .    .    .  " 

"Mind  yer  own  business,  and  be  off  about  it, 
now!"  said  Julia,  choking  with  the  anger;  "what 
call  have  you  to  be  putting  in  yer  gab  here?  I 
want  no  interference  from  you,  or  the  likes  of  ye! 
Leave  me  to  manage  me  own  affairs!  I'll  see  to 
make  Peetcheen  pay  for  what  he's  after  doing  'on* 
me!" 

And  at  that,  Moll  did  turn  about  and  waddle  off. 
And  she  never  let  on  but  it  was  a  real  fact  about 
Peetcheen  being  in  America.  Sure,  maybe  she 
believed  it  herself!  A  body  that  does  as  much 
talking  as  Moll  might  get  confused  betimes.     But 


98  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

a  few  evenings  after  that,  she  ventured  over  to 
Caffreys'  again.  She  was  most  anxious  to  get  back 
to  that  house;  so  she  wanted  to  find  out  how  it 
was  going  on  with  Julia  and  her  American  plan. 
She  found  her,  fighting  rings  round  her  with  the 
old  woman,  and  abusing  Peetcheen  into  the  dirt. 

"Sure,  what  at  all!  wasn't  it  only  sthrivin'  to 
better  himself  he  was?  "  said  Moll ;  "  a  good  steady 
poor  boy  he  was,  always  and  ever!" 

It  was  like  oil  on  lit  tiu-f  to  Julia,  to  hear  her  put 
in  a  good  word  for  Peetcheen.  When  you  want 
the  woman  to  come  round,  in  the  case  of  any  little 
difference  between  her  and  the  husband,  you 
should  find  all  the  fault  you  can  with  him.  Then 
you'll  find  the  wife  will  wear  horns,  and  stand  up 
for  her  husband,  and  turn  on  you.  And  Moll  knew 
that  as  well  as  any  one.  She  could  see  how  mad 
Julia  would  get,  when  she  and  old  Mrs.  Caffrey 
would  be  all  for  compassionating  Peetcheen,  and 
saying  how  good  he  was,  and  all  to  that.  In  fact, 
no  one  coiild  say  anything  bad  that  ever  he  did. 
To  be  sure,  he  never  did  anything,  one  way  or  the 
other. 

And  now,  here  was  Moll,  very  full  of  a  letter 
she  was  after  hearing  read  out  by  one  of  the 
neighbours. 


The  -Rest  of  Him"  99 

"  It  was  wrote,"  she  said,"  by  one  of  the  Caffreys, 
cousins  of  the  family  here,  that  are  out  there  so 
long,  and  doing  well,  too,  they  appear  to  be,  by 
what  I  hear.    ..." 

"So  they  are,"  said  old  Mrs.  Caffrey,  perking 
up  at  this  account  of  her  son's  people  being 
set  out  to  Julia;  "and  why  wouldn't  they?  and 
it's  likely  to  them  me  poor  child  wint !  God  sind 
him  safe!" 

"And  Amen  to  that,  I  pray!"  said  Moll;  the 
same  as  if  she  herself  thought  it  was  there  he 
was. 

Julia  was  listening  to  all  this.  It  made  her  more 
set  than  ever  about  going  after  Peetcheen.  She 
was  like  the  rest  of  us ;  only  too  ready  to  believe 
what  she  wanted  to  believe.  She  took  all  this, 
about  the  letter  from  the  cousins,  for  proof  that 
Peetcheen  was  really  gone  to  America. 

"And  to  think  he  should  be  out  there,  with  full 
and  plenty,  I'll  be  bound;  and  me  slavin'  here! 
I'll  not  do  it  nor  it's  not  to  be  expected  that  I 
would,  either!" 

She  was  just  mad  to  be  off.  And  there  were  few 
would  miss  her  in  Ardenoo.  Even  Peetcheen's 
baby  would  be  far  more  contented,  lying  on  the 
granny's  knee,  or  with  Dark  Moll,  than  he  ever 


100         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

was  with  his  mother.  An  infant  is  very  easy  put 
about;  and  Julia  was  very  odd  and  jerky  in  her 
ways.  But,  sure  she  could  have  had  no  nature  in 
her,  or  she  never  would  have  left  the  child. 

Julia  made  no  delay,  only  sold  the  second  heifer 
to  Big  Cusack.  Not  much  she  got  out  of  the  thing. 
The  two  beasts  "had  themselves  ett, "  he  said, 
"very  nearly,"  meaning  that  nearly  the  whole 
price  was  owing  to  him  for  their  grass.  Peetcheen 
hadn't  paid  a  penny  for  them,  since  first  he  got 
Big  Cusack  to  take  them  in  on  his  pasture  field. 
In  fact,  Julia  was  none  too  well  treated  in  the  busi- 
ness of  her  fortune.  It  was  all  gone  now,  except 
the  few  pounds  she  got  from  Mr.  Cusack  over  the 
heifers. 

But  " Divil's  cure  to  her!"  was  what  was  mostly 
said  about  her;  "why  couldn't  she  keep  a  civil 
tongue  in  her  head,  and  not  harish  the  dacent  boy 
out  of  the  place  that  he  was  raired  in;  and  the 
father  and  grandfather  before  him?" 

Julia  of  course  heard  nothing  of  this.  There 
wasn't  one  would  be  willing  to  draw  her  tongue  on 
them;  and  anyway,  there  would  be  no  sense  in 
interfering.  She  never  asked  advice  from  man  nor 
mortal;  so  she  had  no  chance  of  finding  out  how 
much  truth  there  was  in  the  story  about  Peetcheen 


The  "Rest  of  Him"  loi 

being  in  America.  She  went  off,  as  soon  as  she 
could  take  her  passage. 

A  few  days  after  she  left,  "Glory  be ! "  says  Dark 
Moll,  sitting  by  the  fire,  with  old  Mrs.  Caffrey 
opposite  to  her,  and  the  child  asleep  on  her  lap, 
"  glory  be,  there'll  be  p'ace  and  quietness  here  now, 
anyway!  And  I'll  come  back,  never  you  fear, 
acushla,  the  way  you'll  not  be  lonesome  and  fretted 
here  wid  yourself!  Nor  be  at  a  short  for  some 
sinsible  person  to  take  the  babby  out  of  your 
arrums  while  you'd  be  out  ..." 

But  she  never  finished  the  sketch  she  was  giving 
of  what  all  she  would  do.  For  at  that  word,  old 
Mrs.  Caffrey  gave  a  screech  that  very  nearly  lifted 
the  thatch  off  the  house. 

"Oh,  Peetcheen!  Peetcheen!"  she  cried;  "and 
is  it  yoiirself  that's  in  it  ?  Come  over  to  meself ,  the 
way  I'll  get  a  good  look  at  ye !  The  Lord  save  us ! 
but  where  wor  ye  this  lin'th  of  time,  at  all  at  all?" 

"What's  all  this?"  said  Moll;  "what  are  you 
sayin'?  Is  it  Peetcheen  you  think  is  here?  or 
could  it  be  Something  Not  Right  .  .  .  and  the 
people  saying  it  was  what  he  should  be  'away* 
wid  the  Good  People  .  .  .  and  me  a  poor 
blind  ould  woman  that  can't  know  what's  going 
on.    ..." 


102         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

But  the  same  Moll  was  very  hardy,  and  not 
easily  daunted  by  man  nor  mortal;  just  she  said 
that  wanting  to  get  compassionated.  But  neither 
Peetcheen  nor  his  mother  took  any  heed  of  her. 
For  it  was  Peetcheen,  right  enough!  and  very 
slaved-looking  he  was;  with  his  feet  on  the  world, 
you  might  say,  his  brogues  were  so  worn  and 
broken.  And  by  that  sign,  the  people  thought 
it  was  on  the  stray  he  must  have  been,  ever 
since  he  went  off  after  selling  the  heifer  at 
the  fair. 

But  no  one  ever  got  much  account  of  the  business 
or  of  what  became  of  the  money  he  had  then; 
whether  he  spreed  it  all,  or  if  he  held  on  to  any  of 
it.  It  was  like  as  if  he  had  brought  back  some 
of  it,  anyway.  For  they  had  more  appearance  of 
comfort  about  them  the  next  winter  than  ever  they 
had  before.  Peetcheen  got  a  neighbour  to  draw 
home  a  nice  little  bit  of  turf  for  the  winter,  from 
the  bog ;  and  there  was  a  new  shawl  for  the  mother, 
for  going  to  Mass. 

Peetcheen,  you  remember,  had  that  laid  out  in 
his  own  mind,  when  he  was  on  his  way  home, 
after  marrying  Julia.  And,  moreover,  the  big  arm- 
chair, that  Julia  had  put  by,  above  in  the  room, 
the  way  it  wouldn't  be  getting  knocked  about  in 


The  "Rest  of  Him"  103 

the  kitchen  .  .  .  and  as  well,  she  didn't  want 
Peetcheen  to  have  the  comfort  of  falling  asleep  in 
it,  as  many  a  time  he  did  .  .  .  well,  that  chair 
was  brought  back  and  put  in  the  chimney-corner. 
And  many  a  comfortable  snooze  Peetcheen  took 
in  it  now,  when  he  would  feel  inclined  to  rest  him- 
self; a  wish  he  often  had. 

He'd  sit  there  of  an  evening,  when  the  people 
woiild  drop  in  for  a  ceilidh,^  a  habit  they  lost 
while  Julia  was  there.  But  they  came  again  now, 
and  would  be  very  anxious  to  know  all  about  where 
Peetcheen  had  been.  They  got  no  great  satisfac- 
tion. 

"Where  was  I  since?"  Peetcheen  would  say; 
"  well,  I  went  as  far  as  Ttirn-Back !  Ah !  indeed !  it 
is  a  gay  piece  out  of  this,  sure  enough!" 

Peetcheen  wasn't  such  a  fool  but  that  he  could 
hold  his  tongue,  when  he  chose.  And  there's 
many  a  wise  adviser  of  a  person  that  can't  do 
that,  to  save  their  lives. 

"You'll  be  getting  her  back  now,"  said  Big 
Cusack  to  him;  "the  Woman,  I  mane,  the  Rest 
of  ye.    ..." 

He  was  after  hiring  Peetcheen  then,  for  the  same 
job  his  father  before  him  had  had.     Ay,  and  what's 

'Gossip. 


I04         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

more,  Peetcheen  managed  to  hold  on  to  it,  from 
that  out. 

Peetcheen  had  the  fashion  at  times,  that  if  he 
didn't  want  to  answer  a  question  in  a  hurry,  he 
would  push  the  old  caubeen  down  over  his  face, 
and  scratch  the  back  of  his  head.  He  did  that 
now;  and  then  says  he,  "I  dunno,  Mr.  Cusack; 
I  always  h'ard  tell,  that  it's  as  good  to  I'ave  well 
alone!  And  I'd  have  no  wish  in  life  to  be  inter- 
ferin'  with  anywan;  let  alone  with  a  woman." 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  DAYLIGHT  GHOST 

Heffernan  of  the  Furry  Farm,  being  lame  now  as 
well  as  old,  thought  it  would  be  the  best  of  his  play 
not  to  go  too  far  to  look  for  the  wife  he  was  so 
anxious  to  bring  home,  now  that  he  had  Julia  out 
of  the  way.  And  this  is  how  he  took  the  notion 
of  seeing  whether  he  could  get  a  daughter  of  old 
Flanagan's,  a  near  neighbour  of  his.  And  as  he 
said  to  himself,  he  knew  all  about  those  people, 
and  what  way  they  were  situated,  as  to  their  little 
place  and  all  to  that. 

"A  man  needn't  expect  any  fortune  with  one  of 
his  girls,"  he  thought;  "but  what  of  the  few 
pounds?  The  land  lies  very  handy  to  me  own 
farm,"  .  .  .  and  so  it  did.  Flanagan's  land 
"merined"  the  Furry  Farm;  and  it  was  a  won- 
der how  two  places  so  close  together  could  be  so 
different  from  one  another!  They  both  lay  upon 
the  same  range  of  the  Furry  Hills.  But  whereas 
Heffernan's  was  low  down,  and  the  house  facing 

105 


io6         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

north,  so  that  it  seldom  got  a  blink  of  sunshine, 
the  Flanagans  had  theirs  half-way  up  a  slope  the 
opposite  side,  where  it  had  shelter,  as  well  as  all 
the  sun  and  south  wind  there  was  to  be  had.  In 
fact,  it  was  one  of  the  sweetest  little  places  about 
the  whole  of  Ardenoo.  Greenan-more  it  was 
called,  an  old  name  that  is  said  to  mean  "the  big 
sunny  parlour,"  or  something  like  that.  It's 
likely  it  got  that  name  put  upon  it  when  there  were 
people  living  in  the  old  rath  up  above  at  the  top 
of  the  hill  behind  the  house.  But  of  course 
there  is  nothing  of  a  dwelling  there  now ;  nothing, 
only  a  hollow,  with  a  Lone  Thorn  growing  in  the 
middle  of  it,  and  nettles  and  stones.  Lonesome 
places,  raths  are!  where  the  Good  People  live, 
and  their  music  can  be  heard,  and  they  themselves 
be  seen,  by  them  that  are  able  to  do  so. 

It  would  delight  you,  to  look  at  Greenan-more! 
with  the  lake  lying  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which 
the  house  stood.  The  limestone  pushes  up  there, 
close  to  the  surface,  and  helps  to  keep  the  earth 
warm,  so  that  the  grass  grows  earlier  there  than  it 
does  anywhere  else  about  Ardenoo.  It's  a  sweet 
grass,  too.  One  bite  of  it  is  worth  more  to  a  beast 
than  a  full  feed  off  the  low,  sour  bottoms  of  the 
Furry  Farm. 


A  Daylight  Ghost  107 

The  land  was  different  on  the  two  places;  the 
houses  were  different ;  and  the  people  were  differ- 
ent, too.  Heffernan's  was  well  enough,  in  the  way 
of  it  being  comfortable  and  plentiful;  but  it  was 
lonesome  and  no  great  appearance  of  tastiness 
about  it.  But  Flanagan's  had  a  snug,  bright  look. 
The  two  daughters  were  always  contriving  some 
little  thing  to  give  it  a  look.  It  was  all  neat  and 
clean ;  with  a  rose  growing  over  the  door,  and  the 
walls  whitewashed  to  that  degree,  that  when  the 
sun  shone  on  them,  they  would  dazzle  you,  nigh- 
hand. 

"Like  a  smile  upon  a  rosy  face!"  Jim  Cassidy 
used  to  think  to  himself,  when  he  would  be  taking 
a  streel  up  the  hill,  of  a  Sunday  or  a  holiday  even- 
ing. And  when  a  boy  takes  to  that  kind  of  talk, 
it's  easy  to  guess  what  he  has  in  his  mind. 

With  Jim,  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  it  was  little 
Nelly  Flanagan  that  he  was  thinking  about; 
though  when  he'd  be  there,  it  was  all  to  chat  to  the 
old  father  he  had  come,  hy  the  way  of! 

And  Nelly  that  took  no  more  heed  of  Jim  than 
of  any  other  boy  about  Ardenoo !  What  was  she, 
only  a  child!  no  more;  as  gay  and  as  froHcsome  as 
a  pet  lamb.  But  still  in  all,  Nelly  was  very  nice, 
and  biddable.     She  would  do  anything  in  this 


io8         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

world  wide  that  the  elder  sister,  Christina,  woiild 
say.     And  why  wouldn't  she? 

Here's  who  were  living  at  Greenan-more  at  that 
time:  old  Flanagan  himself;  a  real  old  Sport. 
Not  a  fair  or  a  funeral,  a  wake  or  a  wedding  in 
all  Ardenoo,  but  he'd  make  it  his  business  to  be 
there;  and  with  him  there  lived  his  two  girls, 
Christina  and  Nelly. 

The  mother  had  died  soon  after  Nelly  being 
born;  had  no  great  comfort  with  Flanagan,  and 
no  wish  to  go  on  living.  So  when  she  felt  herself 
to  be  on  the  last,  all  she  said  was:  "I'll  give  the 
baby  to  you,  Chrissie!"  There's  the  pet  name 
she  had  for  her. 

And  Christina,  that  was  only  a  little  slip  of  a 
thing,  about  nine  or  ten  years  old,  took  on  at  once 
to  mind  the  infant,  and  was  like  a  little  mother  to 
her.  Those  that  would  be  in  and  out  of  the  house 
said  it  was  most  amazing,  the  way  she  cared  the 
little  sister.  She  was  very  wise  and  sensible,  and 
as  good  as  she  could  be,  every  way. 

In  fact,  as  time  went  on,  the  two  sisters  were 
just  made  upon  each  other,  as  the  saying  is.  They 
were  always  together;  Christina  made  a  baby  of 
Nelly  and  Nelly  made  a  mother  of  Christina. 
And  what  caused  this  the  more  with  them  was,  the 


A  Daylight  Ghost  109 

father  being  the  sort  he  was;  taking  very  little 
heed  of  anything,  only  his  own  amusement.  That 
is  all  right  enough,  in  its  way.  But  it  doesn't  help 
you  to  get  on  in  this  world;  and  I  don't  know  is 
it  apt  to  do  much  for  you  in  the  next.  What 
Flanagan  and  men  like  him  don't  spend  in  their 
playing  about,  they  waste  in  idleness.  Christina 
did  as  much  as  ever  she  could.  But  on  a  farm, 
there's  always  many  things  that  a  woman 
can't  do. 

And  this  is  how  she  began  first  to  be  thinking  a 
good  deal  about  Jim  Cassidy.  For  he  was  very 
smart.  He  would  see  with  half  an  eye  what  was 
wrong,  and  set  it  right  while  another  would  be 
wondering  what  ought  to  be  done.  He  was  ready 
and  willing  to  do  anything  in  life  for  them  at 
Flanagan's,  so  that  Christina,  that  was  what  we 
call  the  sense-carrier  of  the  family,  got  to  depend 
on  Jim  for  every  hand's  tirni  that  wanted  doing 
about  Greenan-more ;  such  as  the  drawing  home  of 
the  turf  from  the  bog;  or  getting  the  hay  or  oats 
saved,  or  buying  in  a  couple  of  yotmg  pigs  to  be 
fattened.  Of  course,  the  selling  of  the  stock  had 
to  be  left  to  Flanagan  himself;  and  that  was  the 
pity ;  and  was  little  good  to  either  him  or  his  girls. 
He  would  no  sooner  have  the  price  of  the  cattle  or 


1 10         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

sheep  or  whatever  it  might  be,  paid  into  his  hand, 
than  he'd  go  off  on  a  spree,  and  then  you  couldn't 
tell  what  he'd  be  up  to ;  as  likely  as  not,  never 
come  home,  till  he'd  have  it  spent. 

What  the  girls  had  for  themselves  was  anything 
they  could  make  of  the  butter  and  eggs,  the  geese 
and  turkeys  and  so  on.  They  were  satisfied 
enough,  they  didn't  want  so  much.  So  was  the 
old  father,  contented  in  his  own  way. 

And  here  again,  there  was  a  wide  difference 
between  them  and  the  Heffernans.  Poor  Mickey, 
for  all  his  industering,  never  took  much  satisfaction 
out  of  what  he  worked  so  hard  for;  and  as  for 
Julia,  she  was  so  crabbed  always,  that  she  used 
never  to  enjoy  her  own  life,  nor  let  any  one  else 
enjoy  theirs  either;  at  least,  as  long  as  she  remained 
in  Ardenoo;  of  course,  she  might  have  changed, 
going  to  America. 

Yes,  the  Flanagans  were  peaceful  and  easy- 
going; all  but  Christina,  that  favoured  her  dead 
mother,  and  as  she  got  a  bit  older,  used  to  feel 
anxious  betimes  about  many  things.  Of  course 
this  made  her  all  the  more  ready  to  look  to  Jim 
Cassidy  for  help.  Like  as  if  he  was  a  brother, 
she  often  said  to  herself.  But  there's  many  a 
brother    that    wouldn't   be   as   good-natured   to 


A  Daylight  Ghost  iii 

a  couple  of  sisters  as  Jim  was  in  regard  to  the 
Flanagans. 

Christina  having  so  much  dependence  out  of 
Jim,  then,  small  blame  to  her,  when,  one  evening 
as  she  was  driving  in  the  cows,  and  he  came  up, 
she  nearly  fell  out  of  her  standing,  when  he  said: 

"I'm  going  off  next  week!" 

"Going  off!  A — where,  Jim?"  she  said,  though 
she  knew  well,  all  the  time.  There  was  only  the 
one  place  for  a  boy  like  Jim  to  make  for,  those 
times. 

*  *  To  America !  Where  else  ?  "  said  Jim.  ' '  The 
uncle  that's  there  beyant  has  wrote  me  word,  that 
he  has  me  passage  paid,  and,  moreover,  has  a  good 
job  waiting  on  me.  So  why  wouldn't  I  go,  and 
not  to  be  stopping  on  here;  pulling  the  divil  by 
the  tail  for  the  rest  of  me  days!" 

He  stopped  at  that ;  and  if  he'd  been  looking  at 
Christina,  instead  of  staring  out  over  the  lake,  the 
way  he  was,  he  would  have  seen  that  she  had  turned 
as  white  as  a  patch  of  bog-cotton.  But  he  never 
looked  at  her,  only  went  on  to  say:  "There's  only 
the  one  thing  that  I'm  sorry  for  leaving  behind 
me!  Sure,  what  need  I  care  for  going!  a  boy  like 
me,  without  one  belonging  to  me  left  now  in 
Ardenoo;  or  indeed  the  whole  of  Ireland!    Only 


1 12         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

the  one  thing  for  me  to  regret!  that*s  Greenan- 
more.  ..." 

And  if  he  had  chanced  now  to  look  at  Christina, 
he  would  scarcely  have  known  was  it  her  or  Nelly 
that  was  standing  beside  him;  for  Christina's  eyes 
were  dancing,  and  her  cheeks  flushed  and  warm.  . . . 

But  Jim  was  still  gaping  out  across  the  lake,  as 
if  he  had  never  seen  till  then  the  way  it  shimmered 
and  flashed  under  the  setting  sun.  He  saw  no- 
thing of  the  change  in  Christina,  only  went  on: 
"  Greenan-more !  ay,  Greenan-more !  that's  where 
me  thoughts  will  be;  that's  what  I'm  fretting  to 
leave  behind;  where  I'd  always  love  to  be .  .  .  ! 
But  you'll  write  to  me,  Christina   ..." 

At  the  word,  Christina  felt  happiness  rising, 
rising  like  a  warm  wave  about  her.    .    .    . 

"...  and  you'll  tell  me  about  every  one,  and 
everything  that's  going  on  in  the  place  .  .  . " 
Jim  stopped  a  bit  there  .  .  .  and  then,  in  a 
whisper,  "  and  about  Nelly  .    .    .    ?" 

Then  Christina  felt  the  wave  die  down,  and  she 
grew  cold.  Everything  suddenly  tinned  black 
and  lonesome,  all  in  a  minute.  She  felt  giddy,  as 
if  the  world  had  begun  to  sink  away  from  under 
her  feet.  But  she  said  nothing.  Indeed,  why 
should  she?    Wouldn't  it  be  the  queer  world,  if 


A  Daylight  Ghost  113 

people  did  what  they  say  they  do,  and  just  told 
out  whatever  they  think?  They  don't;  nor  they 
couldn't;  it  would  never  answer.   .    .    , 

All  Christina  could  say,  was:  "Next  week? 
why  then,  that's  short  notice!" 

And  Jim  helped  her  to  drive  the  cows  into  their 
shed,  and  got  her  the  stool,  and  she  sat  down  and 
began  to  milk.  Just  the  way  he  was  always 
helping  her!  and  he  stood  beside  her,  for  a  bit, 
advising  her  about  this  thing  and  that  thing;  and 
she  felt  as  if  it  was  all  a  dream. 

But  one  thing  was  real  enough  to  her.  She 
knew  Jim  was  only  delaying  there,  in  the  hopes 
of  seeing  Nelly  coming  out  from  the  house,  to 
help  to  carry  in  the  milk.  And  poor  Christina  felt 
ashamed  of  the  satisfaction  it  was  to  her,  that  as 
likely  as  not  Nelly  would  forget  all  about  the 
cows,  and  the  dairy,  and  the  evening's  work. 

She  had  that  satisfaction;  not  a  sight  of  Nelly 
was  to  be  seen.  And  Jim,  after  waiting  a  bit, 
thinking  that  maybe  Christina  would  be  bidding 
him  to  come  into  the  house,  or  stay  to  his  supper 
there,  just  went  off  home  to  wherever  he  was 
stopping. 

He  had  short  notice,  sure  enough,  for  so  long  a 
journey.     But  what  matter  for  that?     If  you  have 


1 14         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

little,  you  travel  light.  Christina,  that  was  always 
busy  at  some  industering,  had  a  grand  lot  of  stock- 
ings of  her  own  spinning  and  knitting,  ready  to  put 
into  his  bundle.  Nelly  had  nothing,  and  she  cried 
down  tears  to  turn  a  mill,  over  that.  But  Chris- 
tina had  the  fashion  still,  when  she  would  go  to 
the  Shop,  that  she'd  bring  home  a  lucky-bag  to 
Nelly,  as  if  she  was  a  child  still.  She  did  that, 
the  very  day  before  Jim  started.  And  what  was 
in  the  lucky-bag,  but  a  grand  breast-pin,  that  had 
a  stone  in  it,  shining  like  a  diamond,  only  of  course 
it  couldn't  be  that !  Nelly  offered  the  pin  to  Jim 
for  a  keepsake,  and  he  was  as  proud  as  if  it  really 
was  a  diamond  she  had  for  him. 

Jim  went  off,  and  of  all  the  friends  he  left  behind 
him  you'd  think  Christina  cared  the  least.  But 
there's  many  a  one  like  that.  They'll  be  able  for 
the  day's  work,  and  will  keep  bright  and  busy; 
ay,  and  have  a  smile  and  a  pleasant  word  for 
every  one.  But  imderneath  all  that,  there's  some- 
thing aching,  aching  .  .  .  !  unknown  to  all  the 
world,  except  themselves. 

It's  like  the  "swally  in '-holes"  you  come  on  now 
and  then  in  the  boggy  bits  of  Ardenoo.  You  may 
be  walking  along,  happy  and  contented,  in  the 
sunshine,  making  your  way  through  heather  and 


A  Daylight  Ghost  115 

brambles  and  fern;  sweet  smells  coming  up  to 
you  from  the  bog-myrtle  and  meadow-sweet ;  and 
suddenly  with  a  gasp  you  stop  short!  There  at 
your  feet,  you'll  see  a  gaping  hole,  half  hidden  by 
moss  and  rushes  ,  .  .  and  when  you  look  down, 
far,  far  below  the  warm,  smiling  surface  of  the  bog, 
you  see  water,  black  and  deep  and  silent. 

"It's  not  me,  at  all;  it's  Nelly  he  wants!" 
Christina  kept  saying  to  herself,  always,  always, 
while  she'd  be  going  about  her  work,  up  and  down, 
early  and  late,  as  busy  as  ever  she  could  be.  Busier 
than  ever,  indeed !  It  seemed  now  as  if  she  never 
could  rest,  and  couldn't  be  easy,  unless  she  was 
doing  something,  for  the  old  father,  or  little 
Nelly. 

It's  dreadful,  when  you  have  to  look  on,  at  some 
one  else  getting  the  very  thing  that  you  would  give 
your  heart's  blood  for!  Ah,  dreadful!  even  if  it's 
some  one  you  love  that's  robbing  you.  And  it 
makes  it  no  better,  if  the  one  that's  getting  what 
you  want  is  maybe  not  caring  two  straws  about  it ; 
not  even  knowing  it's  there  to  be  had.  Nelly 
didn't ;  she  had  no  more  notion  of  Jim  and  how  he 
felt  than  the  man  in  the  moon.  Christina  could 
not  have  held  out  at  all  if  she  had  known. 

I  won't  say  that  Nelly  didn't  feel  a  bit  lonesome 


ii6         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

for  Jim.  She  missed  him  coming  about  the  place, 
as  he  had  the  fashion  of  doing.  But  she  never 
thought  much  of  anything,  and  she  was  so  beauti- 
ful and  so  nice  every  way,  that  she  could  not  but  be 
happy.  Why,  when  she'd  be  going  to  the  chapel  of 
a  Simday,  the  boys  would  be  striving  with  one 
another  to  get  where  they  could  have  the  full  of 
their  eyes  of  little  Nelly  Flanagan.  And  a  girl 
can't  but  know  something  of  what  goes  on  in  that 
way;  and  feel  it  a  satisfaction,  too.  There  wasn't 
one  in  Ardenoo  could  hold  a  candle  to  Nelly  in 
point  of  looks.  Christina  was  well  enough,  too,  a 
very  fine  appearance  of  a  girl  she  was,  no  doubt. 
But  she  was  older  and  more  settled  in  her  ways, 
than  Nelly,  hadn't  the  same  happy,  laughing  looks 
and  little  tricks  and  fun.  How  could  Christina 
be  like  that  and  she  with  the  weight  of  the  work  on 
her  shoulders  always,  not  to  speak  of  the  care  of 
Nelly,  from  the  time  she  was  born!  It  had  made 
her  very  quiet  and  grave  in  herself;  as  if  she  had 
left  youth  behind  her,  long  ago,  though  in  years 
what  was  she  but  a  girl  still? 

Jim  wasn't  very  long  gone  off,  when  what  hap- 
pened, only  old  Flanagan  took  and  died  on  the  two 
poor  girls.  And  you  would  wonder  to  see  how  they 
lamented  him;  and  he  so  little  use  to  them,  or 


A  Daylight  Ghost  117 

indeed  to  himself  either,  or  any  one  else,  except 
maybe  the  play-boys  that  he  would  be  consorting 
with,  whenever  he  had  the  money  to  stand  treat. 
And  small  good  that  was  going  to  be,  to  them  or 
him! 

Still,  when  any  one  is  gone  and  laid  in  the  grave, 
there's  no  one  going  to  say  anything  but  what  is 
good  of  them;  and  so  by  old  Flanagan.  And  of 
course  his  own  girls  were  the  last  to  hear  of  any 
little  faults  or  follies  he  had  to  do  with.  That 
made  it  all  the  harder  on  them,  when  things  began 
to  be  looked  into,  and  it  was  found  out  that  there 
was  a  lot  of  money  owing  on  the  farm.  The  girls 
had  always  trusted  their  father,  the  way  women 
mostly  do,  Christina  had  felt  a  bit  anxious  at 
times,  but  still,  she  had  managed  to  keep  middling 
straight  at  the  Shop  by  bringing  in  her  eggs  and 
butter  and  so  on,  to  exchange  them  against  what- 
ever tea  and  sugar,  flour  and  meal  and  soap  and 
whatever  else  she  wanted  in  the  housekeeping  line. 
That  was  the  way  the  weight  of  the  business  was 
done  at  Melia's.  Christina  knew  pretty  well  how 
their  account  stood  there.  But  she  never  had 
any  intelligence  of  anything  further.  The  father 
had  the  notion  that  many  men  have,  that  women 
understood  nothing  about  money,  and  the  less 


ii8         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

they  had  to  say  to  it  the  better.  So  it  was  a  terrible 
surprise  to  Christina  when  she  found  out,  after  the 
father  died,  that  there  was  rent  owing  on  the  farm. 
The  agent  was  very  easy-going,  and  had  let  it  run 
on  out  of  good-nature  to  old  Flanagan.  But  now 
he  was  beginning  to  think  that  the  two  girls  would 
not  be  a  very  good  mark  for  all  that  money.  And 
although  he  talked  to  them  as  kind  as  could  be,  he 
was  beginning  to  hint  to  others  that  maybe  girls 
like  the  Flanagans  would  be  as  well  off  without  the 
responsibility  of  so  much  land,  when  there  wasn't 
a  man  to  work  it.  He  really  may  have  thought 
they  would  be  better  off  in  a  smaller  place.  But 
besides  that,  he  knew  well  that  old  Heffernan 
would  be  glad  enough  to  get  Greenan-more,  be- 
cause it  lay  so  convenient  to  his  own  farm;  and 
that  maybe  if  he  could  arrange  to  let  him  have  it, 
he'd  be  getting  a  hand-over  for  himself.  And  of 
course  he  wanted  to  do  the  best  for  himself,  like 
the  rest  of  us. 

Christina  didn't  understand  all  these  things,  but 
she  began  to  feel  very  downhearted,  as  if  there  was 
trouble  in  store  for  them,  when  the  next  rent-day 
was  coming  round,  and  she  knew  how  little 
there  was  to  meet  what  was  due.  That  was  bad; 
but  her  own  care,  that  no  one  knew  of  but  herself, 


A  Daylight  Ghost  119 

was  far  worse.  She  could  neither  eat  nor  sleep, 
thinking,  thinking  always. 

Well,  she  was  sitting  at  the  door  one  evening, 
knitting,  when  who  did  she  see  coming  up  the  hill 
towards  her  but  Mickey  Heffernan.  She  spoke  to 
him  very  civilly,  as  she  always  would,  but  won- 
dered greatly  what  was  bringing  him  there.  For 
it  was  seldom  he  took  the  light  from  their  door,  or 
indeed  from  any  other  door  either.  He  lived  to 
himself,  and  so  he,  too,  had  little  notion  of  what 
was  going  on  about  the  place.  It  would  have  been 
a  big  surprise  to  him,  too,  if  any  one  had  told  him 
that  there  was  any  idea  of  his  getting  Greenan- 
more. 

But  that  nothing  to  the  business  he  had  really 
come  about ;  a  most  amazing  thing  it  was !  Chris- 
tina could  hardly  believe  her  ears,  when  at  last 
Mickey  brought  it  out. 

It  appeared  that  he  had  been  taking  notice  of 
Nelly;  had  had  a  good  look  at  her,  the  day  the 
father  was  in  his  burying.  And  now,  nothing  would 
do  him,  only  to  see  to  get  her  to  marry  him. 

And  he  said  to  Christina:  "If  I  have  your  good 
word  with  her,  the  thing  is  as  good  as  done;  she'll 
agree  to  do  what  you  say.  And  if  she  does,  you'll 
never  regret  it!     For  I'll  regulate  things  for  you, 


120         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

as  well  as  for  her.  And  I  needn't  say,  my  wife'U 
never  want   .    .    .  "  and  all  to  that. 

Christina  listened  to  him  with  a  whirling  mind. 
All  the  thoughts  that  came  up  before  her  then! 
She  could  not  separate  them  from  one  another. 
There  was  a  bit  of  a  song  that  kept  repeating  itself, 
about  an  old  man  trying  to  get  a  young  wife ;  and 
why  the  words  went  singing  themselves  through 
her  head 

Who  plans  to  wreck  a  singing  voice,  and  break  a 

merry  heart, 
He  calls  a  curse  that  shall  be  his,  until  his  breath 

depart — 

she  did  not  know !  She  wasn't  even  thinking  of  all 
they  meant;  only,  there  they  were.  But  she  did 
say  to  herself  that  supposing  such  a  thing  did  come 
about,  it  might  not  be  altogether  too  bad.  Isn't 
it  often  said,  "  Better  be  an  old  man's  darling  than 
a  young  man's  slave"?  And  Heffernan  was  well 
known  to  be  a  good  sort:  kind  and  sober  and 
honest,  queer  and  odd  though  he  was  in  his  ways. 
Ay,  and  he  was  what  is  known  as  a  "warm"  man; 
one  that  had  full  and  plenty,  to  bring  a  wife  home 
to.  And  Christina  felt  the  comfort  it  would  be  to 
have  him  for  a  friend  to  herself;  and  she  knew  the 


A  Daylight  Ghost  121 

need  there  was  for  some  one  to  stand  between  her 
and  the  world.  She  was  like  most  women:  very 
timorous  about  money  that  was  owing,  and  above 
all,  about  rent  being  behind. 

Then  she  thought,  Nelly  had  never  passed  any 
remarks  about  Jim ;  no  more  than  any  ordinary 
friend  might.  She  was  full  as  careless  and  gay  as 
when  he  went  away.  When  Jim  would  write  .  .  . 
and  it  was  seldom  he  did,  the  letter  was  always  to 
Christina.  He  would  ask  for  Nelly,  right  enough; 
but  sure  the  weighty  end  of  American  letters  is 
always  asking  for  this  body  and  that  body.  Jim 
Cassidy's  were  the  same.  Every  one  of  the  neigh- 
bours would  be  mentioned  byname.  It  would  have 
only  seemed  more  particular  if  there  had  been 
nothing  at  all  about  Nelly. 

So  Christina  had  said  to  herself,  that  there  was 
no  occasion  to  be  making  any  talk  with  Nelly  about 
Jim  at  all.  Mightn't  he  change  his  mind?  or  never 
come  back  .  .  .  ?  And  now,  when  Heffeman 
had  his  say  about  Nelly,  Christina  was  sure  it  was 
just  all  for  the  best  she  had  never  said  a  word  to 
Nelly  about  what  Jim  had  said  to  her.  It  woiild 
only  have  been  distiirbing  her  mind. 

Christina  was  all  in  a  flutter,  sitting  there,  with 
the  knitting  idle  in  her  lap  for  once,  and  Heffeman 


122         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

just  waiting,  and  not  a  word  more  out  of  his  head. 
And  still  .  .  .  what  ought  she  to  say?  what  ought 
to  be  done? 

At  last  she  said,  "  Nelly's  not  in  at  this  moment. 
Away  at  a  bit  of  a  dance  she  is,  down  at  the  cross- 
roads.   ..." 

She  stopped  there,  thinking  maybe  Heffernan 
would  be  put  off  his  plan,  by  hearing  that  about 
Nelly,  and  the  father  only  so  lately  dead.  And 
Christina  left  to  do  the  whole  business  that  evening 
by  herself.  Not  that  she  minded  that.  She  never 
grudged  Nelly  her  fun.  But  she  wondered  if 
Heffeman  would  blame  Nelly. 

"Not  inclined  for  going  she  was,"  she  went  on, 
"but  I  made  her  go,  and  I'll  slip  off  by  and  by, 
to  bring  her  home ;  sure,  she's  young,  the  crature ! " 

"She'll  mend  of  that!"  said  Heffernan. 

After  another  silence,  he  got  up  to  leave. 

"  I'll  not  wait  any  longer  to-night, "  he  said,  "  but 
if  it  would  be  agreeable,  I'll  drop  round  next  Sun- 
day, when  there  will  be  nothing  else  to  be  done. 
We  can  settle  the  thing  then  at  once. " 

"Mind,  you'll  have  to  speak  to  Nelly  herself 
first!"  said  Christina.  By  that  she  was  trying  to 
make  herself  believe  that  she  was  giving  Nelly  a 
chance  of  thinking  of  Jim. 


A  Daylight  Ghost  123 

But  only  God  knows  what  is  in  people's  minds! 
Surely,  half  the  time  we  don't  know  ourselves. 
And  the  very  things  that  are  the  most  in  our 
thoughts  are  the  things  we  get  oiu-selves  the  most 
confused  over.  And  the  more  we  try  to  see  them 
clearly,  the  more  confused  we  get. 

With  Christina,  anyway,  that's  how  it  was. 
Sleeping  or  waking,  it  was  Jim,  Jim,  Jim!  always 
and  ever;  no  matter  what  she  was  doing,  or  who 
was  there.  What  was  he  doing  now?  Was  he  just 
the  same?  And  was  he  really  and  truly  as  fond  of 
Nelly  as  he  had  seemed  to  be  that  evening?  .  .  . 
And  did  Nelly  care  one  thraneen  about  him? 

But  she  did  want  to  act  fairly  by  them  both! 
And  that  was  why  she  had  said  to  Heffeman  that 
he  must  speak  to  Nelly  herself  first;  she  would 
have  no  hand  in  it,  until  Nelly  had  had  time  to 
think.  She  wouldn't  say  a  word  to  her,  good,  bad, 
nor  indifferent,  she  thought. 

"Whatever  you  say,  I'll  agree  to,"  Heffeman 
said,  the  last  thing  as  he  was  waddling  off;  "but 
sure  she'll  do  as  you  bid  her,  I'm  sure!" 

There's  the  way  marriages  are  generally  settled 
in  Ardenoo. 

The  days  passed  on,  and  Christina  never  said  a 
word  to  Nelly  still.     And  then,  the  very  Simday 


124         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

that  she  was  expecting  Heffernan  to  come  again  to 
Greenan-more,  wasn't  there  a  letter  from  Jim; 
and  most  surprising  news  in  it,  this  time. 

It  told  that  the  uncle  Jim  had  gone  out  to  was 
after  dying,  very  suddenly,  and  had  left  all  he  had 
to  Jim.  This  had  happened  some  time  before,  but 
Jim  wouldn't  say  anything  about  it,  till  he  was 
sure.  But  now  the  whole  thing  was  settled  up. 
He  had  the  money;  and  he  was  coming  home  at 
once. 

Jim  coming  home!  Jim  coming  home!  Chris- 
tina felt  wild  at  the  thought !  If  he  had  the  money, 
what  delay  would  there  be  only  to  ask  Nelly,  and 
she  would  have  him,  fast  enough !  The  thing  was 
as  good  as  done.  Nelly  was  to  the  good  yet,  as 
long  as  there  was  nothing  settled  with  Heffernan. 
Oh,  if  only  Jim's  uncle  hadn't  died  so  smart!  If 
only  .  .  .  But  must  she  tell  Nelly?  Why 
need  she  tell  her?  Let  her  alone!  Sorra  hair 
Nelly  would  care!  Let  her  marry  Heffernan! 
One  was  as  good  to  Nelly,  Christina  really  believed, 
as  another!  She  would  very  soon  content  herself 
at  the  Furry  Farm  .  .  .  and  then  .  .  .  Oh, 
if  only  Heffernan  would  marry  her  at  once, 
and  end  the  thing!  If  once  Nelly  was  out  of 
the  way. 


A  Daylight  Ghost  125 

But  Jim,  Jim,  that  had  trusted  her  with  his 
secret !  Christina  began  to  think  of  this  now,  and 
that  Jim  had  told  her  everything,  and  as  good  as 
asked  her  to  look  after  Nelly  for  him !  Would  it  be 
fair  to  Jim?  How  coidd  she  play  him  such  a  dirty, 
mean  trick,  as  to  keep  this  news  from  Nelly, 
knowing  all  it  meant,  knowing  that  Jim  intended 
Nelly  to  hear  it? 

She  would  tell  Nelly.  Of  course  she  would! 
How  coiild  she  do  anything  else  but  tell  her?  But 
it  appeared  as  if  something  always  came  in  the  way 
that  morning.  She  started  off  to  find  Nelly,  and 
read  the  letter  with  its  wonderful  news  to  her; 
and  she  couldn't  find  her. 

Christina  had  been  to  first  Mass;  and  now  Nelly 
was  off  to  second  Mass,  a  bit  late,  as  often  hap- 
pened her;  and  hurrying  all  she  could,  hoping  to 
get  a  lift  on  a  neighbour's  car ....  So  she  was 
a  piece  off,  down  the  hill,  when  Christina  called 
to  her;  and  not  a  foot  she'd  come  back! 

And  what  was  Christina  to  do?  There  was  the 
letter,  burning  in  her  pocket,  and  never  a  chance 
of  telling  about  it  to  Nelly,  the  one  that  was  most 
concerned;  because,  when  she  got  back  from  the 
chapel,  she  had  Heffernan  with  her,  all  dressed  out 
in  his  best;  and  Christina  thought  it  would  not 


126         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

answer  to  have  any  talk  of  Jim  then ;  and  of  course 
no  more  it  would. 

The  same  thing,  while  the  dinner  was  going  on ; 
no  opportunity  for  a  word  with  Nelly. 

"It  isn't  to  be,  now!"  Christina  said  to  herself; 
she  might  indeed  have  spoken  to  Nelly,  if  she  had 
really  made  up  her  mind  to  it,  but  the  minute  they 
were  done  eating,  Heffernan  said,  "I  may's  well 
have  a  look  at  that  hay  you  were  telling  me  about, 
now.  And  this  little  girl  will  show  me  the  way!" 
meaning  Nelly. 

"Very  well!"  said  Christina,  wondering  in  her- 
self how  cute  old  Mickey  was,  to  make  a  chance 
for  himself! 

So  they  got  up  from  the  table.  HefTernan  took 
his  stick,  that  he  never  could  do  without,  since  his 
accident  at  the  fair  of  Balloch,  and  there  was  Nelly 
all  smiling,  quite  ready;  and  off  they  went  to- 
gether ;  December  and  May. 

Before  they  were  farther  than  the  yard,  Chris- 
tina called  after  them:  " Nelly!  Nelly,  come  here  a 
minute.    .    .    ! 

"Ah,  for  what?"  cried  Nelly. 

"I  .  .  .1  have  something  to  say  to  ye!"  said 
Christina;  and  she  wished  she  hadn't. 

"Oh,   won't  it   keep?"   says   Nelly,   that  had 


A  Daylight  Ghost  127 

often  been  called  back  that  way,  to  be  told  how  to 
behave,  and  to  not  be  wild  .  .  .  and  she  had  no 
edge  on  for  being  lectured  then. 

She  thought  it  was  bad  enough,  having  to  go  off 
with  Mickey  by  herself.    .    .    . 

"That's  all  right!  come  along!"  said  Heffeman. 

He  was  thinking,  the  poor  old  man,  that  it  was 
what  Nelly  wanted  to  be  hurrying  off  with  him. 

" Mind,  now!  I  told  you  to  listen  to  me!"  said 
Christina,  very  serious.  Yet  she  was  relieved  when 
Nelly  just  laughed  and  went  on  to  the  hayfield. 
And  Christina  called  out,  "I'll  be  after  you,  Mr. 
Heffernan,  as  soon  as  ever  I  have  the  place  readied 
up.     And  glad  I'll  be  of  an  advice  about  that  hay. " 

"Och,  sure  there's  no  occasion  for  you  to  be  in 
too  great  a  hurry ! "  said  Heffernan,  qmte  talkative. 

When  they  were  started,  " I  could  do  no  more!" 
said  Christina  to  herself,  looking  after  them,  Nelly 
like  a  child,  frisking  along  beside  Heffernan  and 
his  limp,  and  she  chattering  away  to  him  and 
amusing  him.  There's  the  sort  Nelly  Flanagan 
was;  always  ready  to  please  whoever  was  next  to 
her. 

Plenty  there  are  like  that ;  plenty  of  girls,  pretty 
and  pleasant  and  smiling.  But  there's  nothing 
more!  no  more  than  if  it  was  a  picture  you  had 


128         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

hanging  by  a  nail  from  your  wall.  But  God  made 
them,  and  the  men  like  them. 

As  I  was  saying  a  while  ago,  it's  hard  to  know 
exactly  what  is  in  your  own  mind,  let  alone  in 
another's.  But  it's  likely  that  what  Christina  was 
really  thinking  now  was  this:  if  once  Heffernan 
spoke  to  Nelly,  and  got  her  to  pass  her  word  to 
him,  the  thing  would  be  settled,  for  good  and  all. 
Heffernan  would  get  the  marriage  over  at  once. 
An  old  man  has  no  time  to  lose,  courting.  Not 
that  Mickey  was  what  people  in  general  would 
count  as  old;  only  that  was  how  the  girls  always 
talked  about  him,  he  being  so  very  settled  and 
quiet-going  in  every  way. 

Along  with  that,  she  thought  how  that  Nelly 
would  be  safe  and  contented  with  him.  He  was 
good,  and  Nelly  was  easy-going  and  hadn't  any  one 
else  in  her  mind.  Christina  was  only  too  ready  to 
think  that. 

But  the  great  thing  was,  that  if  Nelly  was  out  of 
the  way  .  ,  .  mightn't  anything  happen,  as  soon 
as  not!  Christina  did  not  put  that  into  words, 
even  in  her  own  mind.  There  was  one  thing  sure, 
however.  She  wanted  Jim  for  herself.  But  that, 
too,  she  had  to  put  away  from  her.  The  loneliness 
of  her!     She  had  not  one,  in  this  world  wide,  to 


A  Daylight  Ghost  129 

speak  to.  If  she  had  had  itself,  how  could  she! 
how  could  she! 

As  soon  as  Christina  had  all  done,  the  dishes 
washed  up,  and  the  floor  swept  over,  and  a  bit 
thrown  to  the  hens,  she  went  off  after  Nelly  and 
Heffernan.  She  thought  she  wouldn't  be  in  too 
big  a  hurry.  The  day  was  hot  and  bright  and  she 
wo\ild  take  her  time. 

She  did  that.  When  she  got  to  the  gate 
of  the  Big  Meadow,  and  looked  across  it  down 
to  the  lake  that  lay  beyond,  she  perceived 
Heffernan  and  Nelly,  and  they  standing,  talk- 
ing, with  their  backs  to  her,  gazing  out  over 
the  water  that  rippled  and  flashed  under  the 
sunshine,  just  as  it  was  when  Jim  had  told  her 
he  was  going  away,  and  for  her  to  give  him 
news  of  Nelly. 

Christina  stopped  when  she  caught  sight  of  them. 
The  thing  was  going  on  just  as  she  would  wish  it 
shoiild.  She  might  as  well  give  Heffernan  his 
time  to  say  all  he  wanted.  He  was  slow.  It 
would  take  him  a  good  while  to  make  Nelly 
tmder stand.  She  laid  out  that  she  would  go  across 
to  join  them,  of  course,  as  she  had  arranged,  but 
very  nice  and  easy,  taking  her  time.  She  began 
by  being  very  particiilar  about  hasping  the  gate; 


130         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

a  thing,  in  troth,  that  you  can  hardly  be  too  care- 
ful about,  on  a  farm. 

It  gave  her  some  trouble,  the  gate  being  loose 
from  the  hinges,  and  Christina  remembered  it  was 
a  job  that  Jim  had  meant  to  do  for  her,  to  set  that 
gate  right,  only  he  got  such  short  notice  about 
leaving  for  America.  When  she  had  it  secured 
again,  she  straightened  herself  up,  and  turned 
round,  so  as  to  be  facing  the  field  she  was  going  to 
cross.  What  did  she  see,  there  half-way  between 
herself  at  the  gate,  and  Nelly  at  the  far  end  of  the 
meadow,  only  Jim  himself! 

The  sight  left  her  eyes,  near-hand,  and  small 
blame  to  her.  She  rubbed  them  hard,  and  looked 
again.  There  he  was,  right  enough.  He  was 
laughing,  as  he  had  the  fashion  of  doing,  a  quiet, 
half-shy  smile,  but  saying  nothing.  It  was  Jim 
all  over.  The  field  was  so  full  of  light  and  heat 
that  she  felt  dazzled.  You  could  see  little  quiver- 
ing waves  rising  up  into  the  air  from  the  sun-cocks. 
Christina  thought  everything  was  moving  before 
her  eyes.  Except  Jim.  He  stood  there,  quite 
quiet,  laughing  still. 

"Nelly  doesn't  see  him!"  was  the  first  thought 
that  came  into  Christina's  head;  "Nelly  doesn't 
see  him!  and  maybe  he  hasn't  seen  her!     It's  not 


A  Daylight  Ghost  131 

that  side  he's  looking,  at  all !  It's  towards  me  he's 
turned ....  Och,  if  only  I  can  keep  him  that 
way  .  .  .  !  till  I'll  get  down  to  him  .  .  .  and 
keep  him  in  chat  ...  if  only  Heffernan  had  his 
say  out  with  Nelly,  and  gets  her  promise.  .  .  . 
Oh,  why  did  Jim  come  here,  just  this  minute! 
What  at  all  brought  him  now!  If  only  he'd  have 
stayed  away  another  bit!  Even  an  hour  .  .  . 
and  not  for  he  to  be  appearing,  till  it  would  be 
settled.  .  .  .  An'  Nelly  that  doesn't  mind  one, 
no  more  than  another  .   .  .  what  does  Nelly  care ! " 

With  that  word,  in  a  clap,  Christina  begins  to 
think  of  Jim!  Jim,  and  the  look  in  his  eyes, 
straight  and  full  of  longing  and  misery,  while  he 
was  beseeching  of  her  to  write  him  word  of  every 
one  .    .    .   "  and  Nelly!" 

It  takes  a  long  time  to  tell  a  thing,  but  you'll 
make  up  your  mind  quick  enough.  Christina  had 
hers  determined,  before  she  had  made  her  way 
across  the  warm,  smiling  aftermath  to  the  first  line 
of  sun-cocks. 

Supposing  Nelly  didn't  care!  Jim  did.  It  was 
like  a  blow  on  a  bruise  for  Christina  to  have  to  feel 
that  this  was  true.  But  when  she  did,  and  saw 
what  ought  to  be  done,  she  lost  no  time. 

"Jim!"  she  called  out;  and  when  he  made  no 


132         The  Folk  of  Furty  Farm 

answer,  "Jim!"  again.  Still  he  said  nothing; 
only  stood  there,  laughing.  So  then  she  shouted 
out,  "Nelly!  Nelly!  look-at-here.  See  who's  in 
it!" 

At  the  word,  Nelly  turned  round,  and  in  a  second 
there  she  came,  flying  like  a  bird  up  the  field,  the 
Sim  shining  on  her  shining  hair,  and  her  pink  skirts 
floating  this  way  and  swelling  that  way,  as  she  ran, 
and  kept  calling  out,  "Jim!  Jim!  is  it  yourself 
that's  in  it,  at  all  at  all?" 

She  was  like  a  bird,  as  I  said,  but  a  bird  that  was 
taking  wing  from  a  cage. 

To  tell  the  truth,  she  wasn't  caring  so  much 
about  poor  Mickey  and  his  way  of  courting.  She 
was  listening  to  him,  because  she  was  too  much 
surprised  to  do  anything  else,  and  besides  she 
couldn't  really  imagine  he  was  in  earnest,  and  was 
just  letting  him  go  stuttering  on,  and  half  inclined 
to  laugh  in  his  face,  only  she  was  too  kind  to  do 
the  like.  .  .  .  But  of  course  she'd  far  liefer 
have  a  boy  more  her  own  age  and  gait  of  going  to  be 
looking  out  across  the  lake  with,  than  Heffernan, 
Furry  Farm  and  all.  So  off  she  ran  from  him  and 
towards  Jim. 

There  you  have  them  all;  Nelly  running  lightly 
from  one  end  of  the  hayfield,  and  Christina  step- 


A  Daylight  Ghost  133 

ping  quickly  from  the  other  end  of  it,  and  they 
both  making  for  Jim  who  was  standing  between 
them.  Surely  either  of  them  would  reach  him 
quickly  .  .  .  and  of  course,  poor  Christina  was 
full  sure  he  would  go  a  piece  of  the  way  down  to 
meet  Nelly !  But  instead  of  that,  he  kept  backing, 
and  backing  away  from  them;  laughing  always, 
but  saying  nothing. 

"What  are  you  at,  Jim?"  said  Nelly,  flushed 
and  out  of  breath,  but  radiant  with  smiles  of 
welcome.  "Can't  you  stop,  and  not  be  going  on 
that-a-way?" 

Still  Jim  kept  moving,  moving  away  from  them; 
sliding  across  the  field,  and  not  a  word  out  of 
his  head,  in  spite  of  all  Nelly  could  say.  Then 
he  got  to  the  stone  wall  that  ran  round  the  Big 
Meadow ;  and  then  over  with  him,  and  Nelly  and 
Christina  coming  after  him. 

When  they  got  to  the  wall,  they  looked  over  it 
into  the  next  field;  a  big,  fiat  pasture-field  it  was; 
broad  and  open  to  the  blazing  sunshine.  You'd 
think  a  mouse  couldn't  stir  there,  without  being 
seen.  But  sight  nor  light  of  Jim  the  sisters  could 
not  get  there. 

"Where  is  he,  at  all  at  all?"  said  Nelly,  her 
cheeks  as  red  as  roses  between  the  heat  and  the 


134         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

excitement  she  was  in;  "some  trick  he's  after 
playing  off  on  us!  We'll  find  him  above  at  the 
house,  never  fear !  And  to  say  he  lepped  the  wall, 
and  never  stirred  a  stone  off  it!" 

The  wall  was  just  made  of  loose  stones,  laid  one 
upon  another  without  mortar.  Cattle  or  sheep 
could  knock  a  gap  through  them,  ready. 

The  sisters  looked  at  one  another.  Nelly 
turned  white. 

"Sure,  Jim's  always  souple, "  said  Christina,  so 
quietly  that  you'd  never  imagine  she  had  a  hair 
turned  on  her;  "but  now,  let  you  make  no  delay, 
only  turn  back  to  Mr.  Heffeman,  not  to  be  leaving 
him  there  with  no  one  only  himself  .  .  .  sure 
that's  no  right  way  to  be  going  on!  Have  man- 
ners, child  dear!" 

And  to  herself,  Christina  was  saying,  "To  think 
she  never  took  notice  of  the  breast-pin,  and  he  with 
it  in  his  tie!"  for  they  were  close  enough  to  see  it; 
anyway,  that  pin  sparkled  in  the  sun.  "  I  wonder 
does  she  remember  giving  it  to  him,  at  all !" 

"Let  you  come  back  with  me,  Chris!"  said 
Nelly,  coaxing  her;  as  if  she  was  turning  shy  with 
Mickey,  all  of  a  sudden. 

"What  nonsense  is  this  to  be  going  on  with?" 
said  Christina  a  bit  short.     But  still  in  all,  she 


A  Daylight  Ghost  135 

went.  She  scarce  ever  could  refuse  Nelly  anything 
that  she  had  the  giving  of. 

And  wasn't  it  a  small  thing  to  do,  to  walk  down 
a  piece  to  meet  old  Heffernan,  compared  to  what 
Christina  was  after  making  up  her  mind  to? 

She  was  going  to  give  Jim  up !  I  mean,  to  give 
up  thinking  about  him ;  for  the  bitterest  part  of  the 
thing  was,  that  she  had  nothing  else  to  give  up! 
Why  would  she  come  between  Jim  and  what  he 
wanted  so  much? 

"...  and  Nelly!"  he  had  said;  "write  me 
about  everything  that's  going  on  about  the  place 
.    .    .  and  Nelly!" 

Something  had  died  in  Christina  at  these  words. 

To  give  up  Jim !  I  won't  say  it  was  like  parting 
with  a  bit  of  herself;  for  Christina  had  no  such 
great  liking  for  her  own  iour  bones,  that  that 
would  have  troubled  her  much.  And  did  anything 
trouble  her  now?  She  felt  all  ice,  as  if  she  had  no 
feeling  left. 

And  what  was  she  to  do !    What  was  she  to  do  1 

It  seemed  half  her  life,  before  they  met  Heffer- 
nan, coming  puffing  and  limping  up  the  field. 
He  hadn't  a  word  more  out  of  him  about  the 
business  he  had  in  hand,  and  seemed  really  vexed 
at  the  way  Nelly  had  run  off  from  him. 


136         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"Cassidy?  Jim  Cassidy?"  he  said,  when  they 
went  to  explain  the  thing  to  him;  "why,  what 
at  all!  there  wasn't  a  living  soul  in  the  meadow 
nor  isn't  now,  only  our  three  selves !  Is  it  want- 
ing to  make  me  out  a  fool,  altogether,  yous  are? 
Maybe  that's  not  so  easy  done!" 

He  stopped  at  that,  with  his  mouth  open,  as  if 
he  was  surprised  at  himself  that  he  had  said  so 
much.  He  looked  from  one  to  another  of  the  two 
girls,  as  much  as  to  say,  "What  excuses  have  yous 
to  make  to  me?"  for  he  was  quite  offended.  And 
when  no  one  said  anything,  he  just  turned  off  short, 
when  they  reached  the  gate  leading  out  of  the 
meadow,  and  went  home,  as  crabbed  as  you  like. 

But  by  that  time  Christina  was  past  caring  a 
pinch  of  snuff  what  he  did.  She  could  think  of 
nothing,  only  Jim.  She  thought  she'd  never  get 
back  to  the  house  quick  enough,  she  was  so  full 
sure  he  would  be  there  waiting  for  them. 

Leaning  out  over  the  half-door,  she  pictured  him 
to  herself,  the  way  he  often  was,  before  he  went 
to  America,  laughing  and  kind.  Her  face  was 
white,  and  the  two  eyes  burning,  burning  in  it,  as 
she  went  hurrying  on,  across  the  yard,  and  into  the 
house. 

As  for  Nelly,  she  was  all  smiles  and  gaiety. 


A  Daylight  Ghost  137 

Little  she  cared  for  Heffernan,  or  what  humour  he 
was  in,  and  he  going  off  from  that!  She  was 
calHng  out,"  Jim!  Jim!  where  at  all  are  you?  what 
do  you  mean  .  .  .  ?"  as  she  ran  here  and  there 
looking  for  him,  rosy  and  warm  again  in  the 
cheeks,  as  if  they  were  playing  a  game  of  hide- 
and-seek. 

But  the  sorra  Jim  could  they  find !  High,  low,  or 
holy,  there  wasn't  a  sight  of  him  to  be  seen ;  though 
Nelly  hunted  and  searched  and  looked  and  called, 
all  over  the  place;  while  Christina,  white  and 
hot-eyed,  went  about  her  usual  work. 

"A  body  would  think  you  didn't  care,  Chrissy, " 
said  Nelly  indignantly. 

Care !     Did  she  care  about  her  chance  of  heaven  ? 

Later  in  the  evening,  Nelly  went  straying  off 
through  the  neighbours,  telling  her  story,  about 
Jim  being  in  the  Big  Meadow,  and  then  going  off 
from  them.  Did  This  or  That  body  see  him? 
Nelly  would  ask,  with  wide,  innocent  eyes.  She 
was  only  laughed  at.  Nobody  saw  Jim  Cassidy! 
Let  her  go  home  and  make  up  some  better  story 
than  that,  if  she  wanted  to  entertain  people. 

"But  we  did  see  him!  the  two  of  us  saw  him! 
and  we  even  spoke  to  him!  And  he  made  us  no 
answer,  only  disappeared,  the  same  as  if  the  ground 


138         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

had  opened  and  swallowed  him  down!"  Nelly 
insisted, 

"Maybe  so  it  did,  but  we'll  not  swally  your 
story!"  was  all  the  satisfaction  Nelly  got. 

So  she  went  home  to  Christina  and  "Ah,  Chrissy, 
do  you  think  would  it  be  a  warning,  and  that  poor 
Jim  just  came  back  to  tell  us  he's  dead,  there  be- 
yant  in  America?"  said  Nelly,  beginning  to  cry 
down  tears  like  the  rain. 

But  Christina  never  made  her  an  answer.  She 
couldn't !  What  Nelly  was  after  saying,  was  what 
she  had  been  thinking.  But  such  thoughts  never 
seem  so  bad,  till  some  one  else  puts  them  into 
words. 

To  think  of  Jim,  Jim  Cassidy  dead!  She 
nearly  hated  Nelly  for  saying  the  word  that  ends 
everything  .    .    .  except  Love. 

She  put  her  hand  into  her  pocket,  and  pulled  out 
Jim's  letter,  and  gave  it  to  Nelly. 

"That  came  this  morning,  and  I  never  got  the 
chance  of  showing  it  to  you  all  day,  till  now," 
she  said.  And  she  kept  watching  Nelly  from  under 
her  eyelashes,  to  see  would  she  mind  it  much. 

But  Nelly  was  a  real  child.  She  never  thought 
of  anything,  except  just  what  a  body  would  put 
before  her  in  words.     She  said  nothing  as  she  took 


A  Daylight  Ghost  139 

the  letter  and  read  it.  There  was  nothing  in  it, 
only  about  he  coming  home;  and  the  money  he 
was  after  getting  by  the  uncle  that  died. 

Then:  " Starting  the  day  week  this  was  wrote!" 
she  said.  "Well,  well!  But  sure  he  couldn't  be 
here  yet,  this  len'th  of  time  .  .  .  !  whether  or 
which.    ..." 

And  then  she  gave  a  look  at  Christina,  but  she 
was  as  busy  as  a  nailer  with  one  little  thing  or 
another  about  the  kitchen,  so  that  she  took  no 
notice  of  the  way  that  Nelly  was  staring  her.  And 
maybe  it  was  as  well  that  Nelly  got  no  encourage- 
ments to  say,  what  was  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue, 
how  that  Christina  appeared  noways  glad  or  in- 
terested at  the  thoughts  of  Jim  coming  home. 

"And  the  luck  that  he's  after  happening  on! 
And  they  two  that  were  always  the  greatest  of 
friends!" 

That  was  what  Nelly  said  to  herself.  But  she 
never  kept  anything  long  in  mind,  and  so  things 
went  on  at  the  Flanagans'.  The  sisters  were  in  a 
kind  of  bewilderment.  Christina  was  going  about, 
not  speaking  only  when  she  couldn't  help  it,  and 
she  feeling  as  if  she  was  moving  through  a  black 
fog,  cold  and  dreadful,  and  Nelly  upset,  because 
she  wasn't  used  to  anything  from  Christina  but 


140         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

petting.  She'd  wonder  for  a  minute  or  so  what 
at  all  should  be  the  matter  with  Chrissy,  and  then 
she'd  start  her  gay  little  lilt  of  a  song  again.    .    .    . 

It  appeared  to  Christina  as  if  she  had  known  all 
her  life  what  was  going  to  happen,  when,  a  few 
days  later,  as  she  was  coming  in  with  the  milk, 
what  did  she  see,  only  Jim  Cassidy,  and  he  leaning 
over  the  half -door,  just  as  she  had  often  fancied 
him.  Leaning  across  it  he  was,  and  Nelly  stand- 
ing just  inside,  and  they  two  laughing  and  chatter- 
ing together  and  seeming  as  if  they  didn't  think 
there  was  another  soiil  in  this  living  world,  except 
their  two  selves. 

Christina  started  back;  and  the  can  of  milk 
dropped  out  of  her  hold. 

"Oh,  Chrissy!  here's  Jim!"  said  Nelly,  the 
words  tumbling  out  over  one  another  and  she 
between  laughing  and  crying  .  .  .  "and  he  only 
just  after  landing.    .    .    .  " 

"What  else,  only  just  landed?"  said  Jim,  look- 
ing from  one  to  the  other,  very  puzzled;  "what 
else  wo\ild  I  do,  only  come  on  here  straight?" 

"But  sure,  didn't  we  see  you  .  .  .  ?  Ora, 
Chriss,  look  at  the  milk  .    .    .  I" 

"Never  mind  now!  come  and  give  a  hand  to 
wipe  it  up!"  said  Christina,  and  they  all  were  glad 


A  Daylight  Ghost  141 

of  an  excuse  for  doing  something,  Christina  in 
particular.  For  she  was  all  of  a  tremble,  and 
didn't  want  that  to  be  seen. 

So  by  this,  one  thing  and  another  was  spoken  of, 
till  at  last  Jim  got  telling  them  about  a  queer 
dream  he  had  had,  while  he  was  on  the  way 
home. 

"I  thought  to  see  the  two  of  you,"  he  said,  "in 
the  Big  Meadow,  and  yous  coming  towards  me, 
through  the  sunshine  ...  it  appeared  as  if  it 
was  a  Sunday,  with  yous,  and  so  it  was  with  us  in 
the  ship,  too  ...   I  remember  it  well .    .    .    .  " 

"Sure,  if  you  saw  us,  we  saw  you,  too!"  said 
Nelly;  "Sunday  .  .  .  sure  enough!  it  was  the 
day  old  Mickey  Heffeman  was  ..." 

She  stopped  herself,  and  grew  very  red. 

"The  day  Mickey  Heffernan  .  .  .  what?" 
said  Jim. 

"Ah,  nothing  at  all!"  said  Nelly;  "men  does 
be  shocking  foolish  betimes  .  .  .  and  quare  con- 
duction you  got  on  with,  that  same  day  .  .  . 
backing  away  from  us,  as  if  you  thought  we  had  the 
scarleteen,  or  something  you'd  take  from  us,  that 
you  wouldn't  let  us  within  the  bawl  of  an  ass  of 
you.    .    .!" 

"That  was  quare  and  very  quare,  too!"  said 


142  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

Jim;  "but  I'll  see  not  to  let  the  like  occur  again, 
if  I  can  prevent  it!" 

He  and  Nelly  began  to  laugh  again.  And  they 
two  were  so  taken  up  with  one  another,  that  they 
never  heeded  Christina.  She  slipped  away  with- 
out their  knowing. 

They  didn't  miss  her  for  long  enough.  Maybe  it 
was  bad  of  them;  Jim  that  had  trusted  her,  and 
Nelly  that  she  had  given  up  all  for.  But  there's 
what  happened.  And  it  was  only  natiu-al,  after  all. 
Jim  had  Nelly;  and  Nelly  couldn't  but  be  taken 
up  with  all  he  had  to  say.  .  .  .  And  then, 
Christina  was  one  that  no  one  ever  thought  wanted 
looking  after.  So  it  wasn't  till  it  had  grown  dusk, 
that  they  began  to  wonder  where  she  was,  and 
why  wasn't  she  there,  to  be  making  down  the  fire, 
and  seeing  everything  ready,  as  she  always  did. 
They  waited  a  little  bit  longer,  and  then  another 
little  bit  longer  .  .  .  and  the  time  seemed  short 
enough,  to  Jim,  anyway;  till  at  last  they  got 
uneasy,  and  went  looking  for  Christina. 

But  they  never  saw  her  again. 

They  searched  high  and  they  searched  low. 
They  went  to  the  neighbours,  thinking  to  find  her 
somewhere  off  among  them;  though,  as  they  well 
knew,  it  was  the  last  thing  she  thought  of  doing, 


A  Daylight  Ghost  143 

idling  and  ceilidhing'^  away  from  home  of  an 
evening.  The  neighbours  came,  and  helped,  and 
there  wasn't  a  spot  about  the  place  but  they 
searched,  calling  and  whistling  and  shouting  for 
her;  out  all  night  with  lanterns  and  candles. 
Every  one  had  a  great  wish  for  Christina.  Why 
wouldn't  they!  she  that  was  so  good  and  kind. 
But  she  was  not  to  be  found. 

They  kept  up  the  search,  for  days  and  days, 
thinking  it  might  be  that  some  kind  of  weakness 
had  come  over  the  poor  girl,  and  that  they  would 
come  on  her  somewhere,  and  she  in  a  faint. 

But  not  a  sign  of  her  ever  they  found. 

Some  thought  it  was  what  she  might  have 
slipped  into  the  lake,  when  she  was  turning  out  the 
cows  after  milking  them,  for  it  was  down  towards 
the  water  they  were  driven  of  an  evening.  And 
that  lake,  it  was  well  known,  had  no  bottom  to  it, 
in  places;  and  it  was  supposed  that  the  water 
drained  away  through  underground  channels  .  .  . 
and  if  any  one  chanced  to  get  drawn  into  one  of 
them  .  .  .  well,  there  was  no  more  to  be  known 
of  that  person. 

And  more  were  of  the  opinion  that  she  might 
have   fallen    into    one   of   the    swallyin'-holes   I 

'  Gossiping. 


144         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

mentioned.     And   anything   that    goes   in    there 
never  comes  out  any  more. 

It  nearly  killed  Nelly,  the  fright  and  awfulness 
of  losing  Christina  that  way.  She  fretted  and 
pined,  till  the  half  of  her  wasn't  in  it.  And  Jim 
as  bad,  for  he  was  as  fond  of  Christina  as  Nelly 
was;  just  in  the  same  way,  too;  as  if  she  was  his 
sister. 

For  many  a  long  day,  after  Jim  and  Nelly  were 
married,  and  living  on  there  in  the  old  home,  they 
would  talk  of  Christina,  and  think  maybe  she'd  be 
coming  back  to  them,  just  walk  in  on  the  door.  .  .  . 
For  they  always  thought  it  wasn't  dead  she  was 
at  all,  only  "away"  with  the  Good  People  in  the 
old  rath,  at  the  top  of  the  hill  behind  Greenan- 
more. 

The  door  was  always  left  open,  and  the  fire 
strong,  and  food  ready,  at  night,  and  in  particular 
on  Hallow  Eve,  the  way  she  could  come  in  there, 
if  she  had  a  mind  to. 

But  she  never  did. 

And  so  best.  It's  a  poor  thing,  to  be  looking  at 
happiness  through  another  person's  eyes;  even  if 
you  chance  to  be  as  fond  of  them  as  Christina  was 
of  Nelly,  let  alone  of  Jim. 


A  Daylight  Ghost  145 

And  it's  bad  enough  to  fret  for  doing  wrong. 
But  isn't  it  worse  again  to  have  to  feel  yourself 
sorry,  and  you  after  doing  what  you  knew  was 
right !  as  it  was  with  Christina.  But  there's  many 
a  thing  that  it's  hard  to  explain,  as  well  as  what  the 
Flanagans  saw  in  the  sunshine,  that  day  crossing 
the  Big  Meadow. 


CHAPTER  V 

MATCHMAKING   IN  ARDENOO 

There  was  of  course  a  good  deal  of  talk  among  the 
neighbours  about  all  that  took  place  at  Greenan- 
more,  just  soon  after  old  Flanagan  dying  there. 
To  say  nothing  of  the  queer  way  Jim  Cassidy 
appeared  (as  they  said),  to  the  two  girls,  that 
Sunday  evening,  when  they  were  out  in  the  hay- 
field,  with  old  Heffeman  .  .  .  and  anyway,  no- 
thing was  farther  from  Nelly's  thoughts  then  than 
the  same  Jim !  whatever  poor  Christina  may  have 
had  in  her  mind!  .  .  .  To  say  nothing  of  this  at 
all,  wasn't  it  a  shocking  affair  to  see  a  fine,  good 
girl  like  Christina,  going  out  of  this  world  the  way 
she  did!  no  one  to  know  what  became  of  her,  no 
more  than  if  she  never  had  been  there  at  all! 

Still,  the  people  didn't  speak  so  much  over  it 
as  you  might  expect.  They  felt  Nelly  and  Jim 
wouldn't  like  it.  Besides,  there  was  talk  of  Chris- 
tina's being  "away";  and  as  every  one  knows,  it 

146 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         147 

doesn't  answer  to  be  too  free-spoken  about  the 
Good  People. 

Very  little  of  the  talk  reached  Mickey  Heffeman, 
as  usual.  He  lived  very  backwards,  as  has  been 
said;  he  heard  little,  and  he  said  less.  It  was  the 
fashion  he  had,  and  it  served  him  well.  It  did  now, 
for  it  helped  him  to  believe  that  no  one  knew  a 
word  about  his  having  wanted  little  Nelly  Flana- 
gan for  himself.  In  fact,  very  few  did  and  they 
soon  forgot  it,  there  was  so  much  else  to  be  talked 
about.  Mickey  was  very  proud  to  think  that  the 
business  with  Nelly  had  gone  no  further ;  any  man 
would  feel  the  same.  But  instead  of  this  taking 
the  edge  off  him  for  getting  married,  it  only  made 
him  the  more  anxious  to  hear  of  some  other  girl 
that  would  come  in  upon  the  floor  of  the  Furry 
Farm.  Julia  was  gone  out  of  his  way;  so  why 
would  he  not  strive  to  bring  a  wife  in  there? 

Little  Kitty  Dempsey  was  the  next  he  looked  to 
get ;  and  a  very  curious  way  that  came  about.  Not 
that  any  man  was  to  be  blamed  for  fancying  Kitty ! 
She  had  every  one's  good  word,  the  same  little  girl. 

"A  very  nice  little  cut  of  a  person,"  it  would 
be  said  of  her,  "agreeable  and  pleasant-spoken  in 
herself;  noways  uppish  or  short  with  any  one. 
And  the  darlint  blue  eyes  of  her,  that  she  can  say 


148         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

what  she  chooses  with!  Sometimes  they'll  laugh, 
like  nmning  water  in  simshine;  and  again,  they'll 
fill  up,  if  she's  fretted,  till  they'd  remind  you  of 
nothing  so  much  as  a  shower  of  an  April  day. 
And  as  straight  she  is  as  a  rush,  and  as  light  on  her 
foot  as  a  willy-wagtail;  like  a  young  larch  tree, 
slim  and  upright ;  and  wouldn't  any  one  sooner  be 
looking  at  the  like  of  that  than  at  one  that  has  been 
twisted  and  bent  by  the  wind  on  the  side  of  a  hill, 
or  has  had  the  half  of  it  ett  away  by  a  hungry  colt? 
Oh,  there's  some  giris  that  there  does  be  a  power 
of  marrying  on,  before  they  can  be  settled !  But 
troth!  that's  not  so  with  Kitty  Dempsey!" 

In  fact,  at  this  time,  though  Kitty  was  young 
yet,  it  was  the  wonder  of  Ardenoo  that  she  wasn't 
married  long  ago,  for  as  they  said,  it  wasn't  her 
looks  stood  in  her  way;  though  she  never  got  to 
be  as  rosy  in  the  face  and  JlauhooHch^  as  her  sisters 
all  were.  Many  a  time  they  blamed  Kitty  for  that, 
as  if  she  could  help  how  she  looked!  But  the 
father,  old  Dick  Dempsey,  would  whisper  to  Kitty : 

"Never  mind,  asthore!  it  isn't  always  the  big 
people  that  reaps  the  harvest,  Kitty!" 

He  was  very  nice  and  gay,  the  poor  man,  and 
always  had  a  great  wish  for  Kitty,  and  stood  up 

« Burly. 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         149 

for  her  whenever  he  could.  But  Kitty  was  the 
youngest  of  a  long  family;  and  as  you  may  often 
notice  in  that  case,  she  seemed  to  come  in  for  the 
fag-end  of  everything. 

When  she  was  no  more  than  a  child,  she  could 
see  plain  enough  that  there  wasn't  a  dance  or  a 
fair,  a  wake  or  a  wedding  far  or  near,  but  all  the 
other  girls  would  go  off  to,  and  have  their  fling  of 
whatever  fun  was  to  be  had.  And  they  would  say 
to  Kitty,  "Better  for  you  stop  at  home  and  let 
your  hair  grow!  you'll  have  your  turn  by  and  by!" 

But  there  was  not  really  much  difference  in  age 
between  Kitty  and  the  next  sister;  only  one  had 
to  stop  at  home,  and  somehow,  Kitty  was  more 
agreeable  to  do  that  than  any  of  the  others. 
Though,  as  she  grew  up  more,  she  often  had  a  wish 
to  go  about,  like  another,  and  get  her  share  of 
sport;  and  when  they'd  say,  she'd  have  to  wait 
another  little  while,  and  then  let  her  take  her  turn, 
"  To-morrow's  a  long  day ! "  Kitty  would  cry.  But 
that  never  did  her  any  good. 

She  would  feel  it  lonely  enough,  of  an  evening, 
when  the  others  were  away  off  sporting  somewhere, 
and  only  the  old  father  and  mother  left  about  the 
place.  The  only  consolation  Kitty  had  those 
times  was  when  she'd  go  off  to  the  well  for  the  can 


150         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

of  water.  Dan  Grennan  would  be  very  apt  to  be 
there  or  somewhere  about,  and  then,  of  course, 
he'd  get  the  water  for  her  to  carry  it  home,  as  far 
as  the  back  of  the  turf -clamp.  Dan  was  a  neigh- 
bour, a  decent,  quiet  boy,  what  we  call  a  "lone 
bird,"  for  he  had  no  one  belonging  to  him  in  the 
place. 

Well  and  good;  this  got  to  be  the  habit  most 
evenings,  till  Kitty's  mother  took  notice  that  the 
water  began  to  be  very  late  coming  in  for  her  cup 
of  tea.  So,  out  with  her,  one  time,  and  she  slipped 
along,  very  quiet  and  easy,  till  she  heard  a  laugh 
from  behind  the  turf-clamp.  Round  it  she  went; 
and  there  were  Kitty  and  Dan,  with  the  can  of 
water  on  the  ground  between  them. 

There's  where  they  were  in  error,  not  to  have 
talked  their  fill  below  at  the  well,  and  have  done 
with  the  thing.  But  sure,  young  people  are  all  the 
same.  When  they  begin  to  chatter  and  talk  with 
one  another,  they  get  it  as  hard  to  stop  as  if  it 
was  the  sea  they  were  striving  to  empty  out  with  a 
sieve. 

It  chanced  that  old  Mrs.  Dempsey  was  very 
thirsty  at  that  present  time,  which  was  what 
maybe  had  her  so  fractious.  But  indeed,  at  the 
best  of  times,  the  turn  of  a  straw  would  leave  her 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         151 

as  cross  as  an  armful  of  cats,  she  was  so  short  in  the 
temper. 

"Well,  Dan,  me  fine  fellah!"  she  said;  "and 
is  it  you  that  is  in  it?" 

"It  is,  Mrs.  Dempsey,  mam,"  answered  Dan, 
quite  civilly;  and  then  he  added,  "and  no  harm 
in  that,  I  hope?" 

He  should  not  have  said  that;  giving  her  an 
opening. 

"Troth,  I  dunno  about  that!"  said  she,  and 
was  twice  as  vexed,  because  poor  Dan  was  so 
quiet-spoken  with  her;  "that  depends,"  she  says, 
"but  a  boy  that  has  nothing  between  him  and 
the  world  only  his  two  hands  has  no  call  in 
life,"  she  says,  "to  be  here,  colloguing^  with  my 
dauther!" 

Mrs.  Dempsey  was  a  Cusack,  and  held  herself 
very  high.  She  turned  to  Kitty,  that  was  as  red 
as  roses  by  then. 

"Off  with  ye,  and  bring  in  that  water,  that  I'm 
sick  and  tired  waiting  on!" 

Kitty  was  ready  enough  to  go.  Ashamed  she 
felt,  to  have  that  word  said  to  Dan,  and  she  by. 
She  went  off,  without  giving  him  word  or  look. 
How  could  she,  with  the  mother  stumping  along 

» Talking  confidentially. 


152         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

behind  her,  as  big  as  a  bush  and  as  red  as  a  turkey- 
cock! 

"And  she  gobbling  out  of  her,  too!"  said  Dan  to 
himself,  as  he  sneaked  off,  with  a  very  sore  heart. 
He  was  a  fine,  big,  able  boy,  that  you  would  never 
think  troubled  his  head  about  anything.  But  boys 
like  that  have  times  that  they  want  comforting, 
as  well  as  another.  Dan  was  out  of  a  job  then, 
and  he  was  intended  to  ask  an  advice  of  Kitty, 
whether  he  ought  to  go  to  England  for  the  harvest 
or  not,  only  when  he  saw  her,  he  forgot  everything 
else  except  little  Kitty  Dempsey.  He  was  not  to  be 
blamed  for  that.  You  would  maybe  have  done  the 
same  yourself. 

But  the  very  next  day  after  Mrs.  Dempsey  giv- 
ing him  his  walking-papers,  as  I  said,  Dan  got  a 
job  of  driving  a  lot  of  cattle  out  to  Dublin  market. 
And  when  he  had  that  done,  he  bobbed  up  against 
a  comrade-boy  of  his  own,  and  this  boy  was  after 
taking  his  passage  to  America.  And  he  was  so 
lonesome  in  himself,  to  be  going  away,  that  he 
offered  the  lend  of  money  to  Dan,  the  way  they 
could  go  together.  I  needn't  say  Dan  jumped  at 
the  chance. 

But  he  had  to  start  off  as  he  stood;  and  no  one 
at  Ardenoo  knew  a  word  about  his  going,  for  long 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         153 

enough.  So  there  was  many  a  mile  of  salt  water 
between  poor  Dan  and  Kitty,  and  still  Mrs. 
Dempsey  would  be  going  to  the  well  herself  of  an 
evening.  It  was  the  price  of  her,  to  be  putting 
such  rounds  upon  herself,  and  for  what?  But  as 
Dan  said  long  after,  when  he  and  Kitty  would  be 
talking  over  things,  "  Divil's  cure  to  them  that  has 
a  bad  suspicion  of  others!" 

Kitty  used  to  fret  a  good  deal,  wondering  how  it 
was  that  she  never  saw  Dan  nor  heard  anything 
about  him,  since  the  time  her  mother  caught  her 
and  him  together  behind  the  turf-clamp.  But  she 
passed  no  remarks  to  man  nor  mortal.  And  one 
day  that  she  and  the  mother  were  at  Melia's  shop, 
where  the  post-office  is,  a  letter  was  slipped  to 
Kitty,  that  no  one  saw  only  herself.  Mrs.  Melia 
knew  well  the  sort  old  Mrs.  Dempsey  was,  and  so 
did  every  one  else  about  Ardenoo. 

Kitty  had  to  keep  that  letter  in  her  pocket,  and 
it  burning  a  hole  there,  till  she  was  going  to  bed 
that  night  before  she  had  any  opportunity  of 
opening  it.  What  was  there  inside  of  it,  only  a 
picture  of  Dan,  all  done  out  so  grand  and  fine, 
that  you  would  scarcely  know  it  to  be  Dan  at  all, 
only  his  name  was  written  under  it.  And  on  the 
back  of  the  picture  there  was  this  verse: 


154         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

When  this  you  see, 
Then  think  of  me,  D.  G. 

So  Kitty  was  not  much  the  wiser  about  what  had 
happened,  when  she  got  this  from  Dan.  But  not 
long  afterwards,  she  got  word  that  it  was  in 
America  he  was,  and  had  good  pay  there.  And 
then  no  one  seemed  to  know  much  more  about 
Dan. 

It  wasn't  too  long  after  this,  that  old  Dick 
Dempsey,  himself,  Kitty's  father,  took  and  died  on 
them;  "harished  out  of  the  world,"  some  said,  by 
the  wife  he  had,  that  could  never  think  anything 
right  that  he  did;  or  any  one  else,  for  that  matter, 
except  herself.  There's  a  power  of  people  like 
Mrs.  Dempsey. 

It  was  the  woe  day  for  poor  Kitty,  when  her 
father  was  gone,  and  she  and  the  mother  left  to 
manage  for  themselves.  By  this  time  all  the 
others  were  married,  or  gone  off  to  America.  And 
of  course  they  all  said  among  themselves,  that  the 
farm  that  had  reared  the  whole  of  them,  and  had 
given  snug  fortunes  to  every  girl  that  married  out 
of  it,  ought  to  be  able  to  keep  Kitty  and  the 
mother  in  the  greatest  of  comfort. 

So  it  should  too;  only  there  chanced  to  be  a  few 
bad  seasons,  when  the  grass  was  short  ...  or  the 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         155 

rain  didn't  come  till  it  wasn't  wanted,  and  so  the 
crops  got  spoilt  in  the  saving.  Every  one  else  about 
Ardenoo  was  in  the  same  boat.  Except  for  this: 
Mrs.  Dempsey  was  of  the  opinion  that  they  were 
all  fools  but  herself.  That  kept  her  down  worse. 
She  would  take  no  advice.  She  thought  she  knew 
better  than  men  that  had  been  farming  all  their 
lives,  while  she  had  been  rearing  chickens  and 
making  butter.  Her  great  idea  was,  to  spend 
nothing.  She  grudged  doing  that,  more  than 
anything. 

Now  it  is  well  known  that  the  best  fertiliser  you 
can  use  on  land  is,  money.  If  you  treat  your  land 
well,  it  will  treat  you  well;  a  thing  that  is  true  of 
more  than  farming. 

But  with  Mrs.  Dempsey  it  was  take  all  and  give 
nothing;  above  all,  for  labour.  She  would  keep 
no  help  for  the  house.  So  it  was  Kitty!  here;  and 
Kitty!  there,  from  dawn  to  dark.  Kitty  was 
never  done.  She  was  the  most  willing  little 
creature  you  could  find  in  a  day's  walk ;  as  good  as 
ever  was  wet  with  water.  But  what  avails  all  one 
girl  can  do  on  a  farm?  with  poultry  and  milk,  tur- 
keys and  pigs,  and  then  be  expected  as  well  to  do 
haymaking,  or  the  thinning  of  turnips,  or  dropping 
potatoes,  and  I  don't  know  what  all  besides.    It 


156         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

was  only  folly  to  think  any  one  pair  of  hands  could 
overtake  all  that. 

And  here  again  was  another  reason  why  poor 
Kitty  was  not  to  have  her  chance  of  a  bit  of  sport 
like  another.  At  first,  as  I  explained,  she  had  to 
step  one  side,  in  order  that  the  sisters  that  were 
older,  the  "ones  that  were  next  the  door, "  as  they 
are  called  at  Ardenoo,  could  have  their  fling,  there 
were  so  many  of  them  there.  And  secondly  she 
had  to  stop  at  home  now,  because  they  were  not 
there!  no  one  in  the  place,  only  the  old  mother 
and  Kitty.  So  that  is  how  she  never  had  any 
other  "coort"  except  Dan;  and  of  course  then  she 
thought  all  the  more  of  him;  the  same  as  a  hen 
with  only  one  chicken.  She'll  fuss  and  cluck  as 
much  for  it  as  if  she  had  the  whole  clutch. 

Girls  that  are  allowed  a  bit  of  liberty,  the  way 
they  can  be  putting  a  whole  lot  of  boys  through 
their  hands,  as  some  do,  are  better  ofif  in  a  way 
than  Kitty  was  with  Dan. 

"One  thing  moiders  another!"  as  the  man  with 
the  toothache  said,  when  he  felt  the  pain  going 
into  his  ear.  And  if  a  girl  has  Phil,  and  Jack,  Mike, 
and  Pat  as  well  as  Art,  it's  likely  she'll  not  fret  too 
much  about  any  of  them  if  they  go  off,  as  Dan  did. 

However,  you  never  know  what  turn  a  young 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         157 

mind  will  take.  People  differ,  as  well  as  the  things 
they  happen  up  against.  Kitty  wasn't  like  other 
girls;  and  those  that  knew  her  best  never  wished 
that  she  was. 

All  the  same,  good  and  contented  as  she  strove 
to  be,  it  was  hard  on  her!  Year  in,  year  out,  going 
on  the  one  old  gait ;  her  nose  for  ever  to  the  grind- 
stone. And  along  with  all,  if  anything  went  wrong, 
Mrs.  Dempsey  would  take  and  scold  at  Kitty, 
most  bitterly,  as  if  the  girl  was  to  be  blamed  when 
the  potatoes  turned  black,  or  the  oats  got  lodged, 
beaten  into  the  ground  with  the  heavy  dreeps  of 
rain. 

As  for  the  fow  !  That  was  what  had  the  old 
woman  more  annoyed  than  anything.  The  rage 
she  got  into,  one  season,  when  a  lot  of  young  gos- 
lings died!  She  said  it  was  what  Kitty  had  neg- 
lected them,  and  that  she  cared  for  nothing,  only 
idling  her  time  over  her  geranium-pot.  Now  it 
was  true  that  Kitty  did  think  a  lot  of  that  flower, 
and  no  one  but  herself  knew,  or  cared,  that  it  was 
Dan  Grennan  that  had  brought  it  to  her,  and  it 
only  a  little  weeny  bit  of  a  thing.  Kitty  had 
minded  it  so  well,  that  it  flourished  up  the  finest 
ever  was  seen.  She  was  very  fond  of  flowers,  but 
any  little  bit  of  a  garden  that  ever  she  made,  some- 


158         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

thing  happened  it ;  either  the  pigs  rooted  it,  or  the 
hens  tore  it  about.  So  to  keep  her  geranium-pot 
safe,  it  was  up  on  top  of  the  pump  she  had  it,  the 
time  the  goslings  died. 

Mrs.  Dempsey  was  making  for  it,  to  fling  it  pot 
and  all  out  of  that,  when,  behold  ye!  she  was  took 
bad  all  of  a  sudden.  Some  kind  of  Blessed  Sick- 
ness it  was;  and  in  the  clap  of  your  hand,  it  left  her 
speechless,  and  with  no  power  of  herself  from  the 
waist  down,  ever  after.  In  fact  she  didn't  last  too 
long  after  this  happening.  But,  of  course,  Kitty 
nor  no  one  could  know  but  she  might  live  for  years 
yet. 

When  she  was  laid  up  that  way,  it  left  Kitty 
there,  nothing  but  a  bird  alone,  as  you  might  say ; 
the  mother  good  for  nothing,  only  having  to  be  fed 
and  minded,  the  same  as  an  infant  child,  and  twice 
as  hard  to  please  as  any  baby.  Kitty  was  that 
tender-hearted,  that  she  fretted,  night,  noon,  and 
morning,  when  the  old  woman  wasn't  able  to 
speak ;  though  what  all  the  neighbours  were  saying 
was,  "Won't  poor  Kitty  have  great  ease,  now  that 
the  mother's  tongue  is  stopped,  the  ould  torment ! " 

But  to  listen  to  Kitty,  you  would  believe  there 
never  was  another  mother  so  good  on  the  face  of 
the  earth,  as  what  she  had  herself. 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         159 

Shortly  after  this  taking  place  with  the  Demp- 
seys,  the  fair  day  of  Timahoe  came  round.  Dark 
Moll  Reilly  was  in  it,  of  course,  herself  and  her 
fiddle.  No  wake  nor  wedding  nor  sport  of  any 
kind  was  right  about  Ardenoo,  without  Moll. 

There  was  people  of  the  opinion  that  the  dark 
woman  could  see  more  than  she  let  on  to  be  able  to; 
and  that  it  was  just  a  gait  of  going  she  put  on,  the 
way  she  could  get  a  better  acquaintance  with 
things  that  were  not  meant  for  her.  Certain  it  is 
that  there  wasn't  a  stir,  far  or  near,  or  anything 
going  on  about  Ardenoo,  but  what  Moll  always 
had  the  first  whimper  of  it.  But  no  one  ever  heard 
a  bad  word  from  her,  about  any  son  of  men;  nor 
she  wouldn't  either.  She  knew  only  too  well,  that 
she  ought  to  be  careful,  and  not  have  the  people 
afraid  of  her  tongue.  In  that  way,  she  had  many 
a  snug  stopping-place,  where  she  was  always  made 
welcome,  with  her  fiddle  and  her  chat  about  every- 
thing, because  the  people  felt  Moll  wasn't  one  to 
carry  stories.  Besides,  she  was  a  knowledgeable 
person,  and  very  understanding,  and  had  made 
up  many  a  match  among  the  neighbours  at 
Ardenoo. 

Going  away  from  the  fair  she  was,  this  day, 
when  Big  Cusack,  that  was  a  brother  of  Mrs. 


i6o         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

Dempsey's,  overtook  her  on  the  road,  and  asked 
her  would  she  sit  up  on  the  side-car  with  him,  and 
he  could  be  giving  her  a  lift  as  far  as  he  was  going 
her  way. 

"I'm  thankful  to  ye,  sir,"  said  Moll,  "but  I 
wouldn't  wish  to  be  too  troublesome.  ..." 

"Not  the  least  trouble  in  life!"  he  said,  and 
gave  her  his  hand  across  the  well  of  the  car,  to  help 
her  up.  And  then,  when  they  were  jogging  on 
again,  they  fell  into  chat  and  the  whole  topic 
between  them  was,  poor  Kitty  Dempsey  and  the 
way  she  was  left  with  the  helpless  old  mother; 
and  she  with  ne'er  a  one  in  it  but  herself. 

"But  sure,  she  needn't  be  so!"  said  Moll. 
"There's  plenty  of  boys  would  be  glad  enough  to 
be  sending  in  their  papers  there  .  .  .  and  she  your 
niece,  too,  Mr.  Cusack!" 

"Troth,  I'm  not  so  sure  about  the  boys  at  all!" 
said  Big  Cusack;  "the  most  of  them,  they  put  a 
high  figure  on  themselves  now.  They're  not  to  be 
caught  with  chaff,  these  times.  Kitty  Dempsey, 
indeed,  with  no  stock  to  speak  of  on  the  farm! 
And  it  all  racked  out,  the  mother  taking  in  grazing 
cattle,  and  letting  them  eat  the  roots  out  of  the 
pasture  .  .  .  and  the  ditches  choked  .  .  .  and 
fences  wanting  to  be  made  up  .  .  .  let  alone  the 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         i6i 

two  years'  rent  that's  owing  on  the  place  this 
minute.  ..." 

He  had  a  sup  taken  at  that  time,  or  he  wouldn't 
have  been  so  talkative. 

"Do  you  tell  me  that!  Dear,  dear!"  said  Moll; 
though  well  she  knew  it  all  before  he  spoke.  But 
there's  no  way  so  good  to  flatter  people  up,  as  to 
listen  to  them  talking  as  if  it  was  all  new  to  you, 
although  you  might  have  the  thing  twice  as  well 
off,  as  they  would  that  were  telling  it.  Dark  Moll 
was  well  aware  of  this.  Besides,  being  old  and 
poor,  as  well  as  blind,  the  creature!  of  coiirse  she 
knew  she  ought  to  be  very  humble  in  herself.  So 
she  had  the  habit,  as  I  said  before,  of  being  very 
careful  and  exact  in  what  she  would  say,  and  in 
particular  to  a  man  like  Big  Cusack,  a  strong 
farmer  that  had  a  right  to  every  respect. 

"I  do  tell  you  that,  and,  moreover,  I'm  sure  of 
it!"  says  he  in  answer. 

"Troth,  then,  and  I'm  not  one  bit  sure!"  said 
Moll,  "askin'  your  pardon  and  grantin'  your  grace 
for  the  word,  Mr.  Cusack!  But  I  think,  and  not 
alone  that,  but  it's  too  sure  I  am  that  there's 
plenty  would  jump  at  little  Kitty  Dempsey,  ould 
mother  and  all.  Sure,  she  can't  last  for  ever,  God 
help  her!  and  let  her  do  her  best.    I  know  one, 


1 62         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

anyway,  that  I'm  too  sure  would  take  her,"  says 
Moll,  "this  instant  minute;  a  qui't,  settled  boy,  wid 
money  in  the  bank,  as  well  as  the  snuggest  place 
you  need  ask  to  lay  an  eye  upon !  And  he  wanting 
a  woman  there,  this  len'th  of  time !  And  well  you 
know  that  I'm  only  saying  what's  the  truth!" 

"Who  is  it  you're  speaking  of?"  asks  Cusack. 

"Why,  who  but  Mickey  Heffeman!"  said  Moll, 
"away  off  at  the  Furry  Farm;  he's  after  marrying 
the  sister  Julia  to  a  boy  from  Clough-na-Rinka 
.  .  .  one  of  the  Caifreys  .  .  .  but  that's  no  con- 
sam  of  a  man  like  you,  Mr.  Cusack!  But  poor 
Mickey  hasn't  one  to  do  a  hand's  turn  for  him  now, 
barring  himself.  Sure  he  had  a  right  to  have 
looked  into  the  thing  before  this,  and  not  be  leav- 
ing himself  the  way  he  is.  And  now  he's  driving 
about  the  country,  I  hear,  looking  for  a  wife;  and 
his  spokesman  with  him.  ..." 

"I  have  no  great  acquaintance  with  the  man," 
said  Cusack. 

"No,  nor  couldn't,"  said  Moll;  "Mickey  was 
like  the  rest  of  the  Heffemans,  great  always  at 
keeping  himself  to  himself.  And  the  lonesome 
place  he  has!  But  sure,  if  it  was  arranged,  can't 
he  come  to  live  at  Dempsey's,  and  be  seeing  after 
the  two  places  from  there,  quite  handy?" 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         163 

' '  That  might  answer, ' '  says  Cusack.  '  *  Middling 
ould  he  is,  I  believe?" 

"No  more  than  sixty,  if  he's  that,  itself,"  said 
Moll;  "and  as  sound  as  a  trout;  ay,  and  maybe 
would  be  better  to  Kitty  than  one  of  them  yoimg 
bloomin'  boys  that's  going  these  times,  the  sorra 
much  good  they  are  only  spreeing  and  play-acting. 
.  .  .  But  Mickey  is  not  that  way  of  thinking  .  .  . 
real  sober  and  .  .  .  Let  me  down  off  o'  the  car, 
Mr.  Cusack,  sir,  if  you  please.  .  .  .  It's  to  Biddy 
Fay's  I'm  going  for  the  night.  ..." 

"We're  past  it,"  said  Cusack. 

Moll  knew  that,  as  well  as  he  did.  But  it  came 
more  natural  to  her  to  tell  a  He  than  the  truth, 
even  if  it  was  to  do  her  no  good  itself. 

"Past  the  turn  to  Biddy's  are  we?  but  sure 
we  can't  be  far,"  said  Moll;  "just  stop  if  you 
please,  sir,  and  let  me  down  and  give  me  a  twist 
round  to  set  me  going  right,  and  may  the  Lord 
reward  ye  for  helping  the  poor  dark  ould  woman!" 

So  Cusack  did  that ;  but  it  wasn't  to  Biddy  Fay's 
Moll  was  steering;  no,  but  passed  on,  and  made 
for  the  Furry  Farm,  as  hard  as  she  could  go.  It 
was  a  long  way,  and  she  couldn't  make  it  that 
night  at  all.  But  the  next  evening  she  got  to 
Mickey  Heffeman's  right  enough. 


164         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

There  was  no  one  within  at  that  time,  except  the 
boy  that  was  spokesman  to  Mickey  in  looking  for 
the  wife.  He  was  a  neighbour's  son,  well  known  to 
Moll. 

"  So  you  haven't  Mickey  marrit  yet?  "  said  Moll, 
when  they  had  passed  one  another  the  time  of  day. 

"No,  faith!"  said  the  boy;  "and  sick  and 
tired  I  am  of  the  job !  God  and  the  world  wouldn't 
plase  Hefiernan  with  a  wife!" 

"Och,  wait  till  your  own  turn  comes  round,  me 
hayro!  maybe  you'll  have  picking  and  choosing 
then.  ..." 

"When  I  want  a  wife,  I'll  see  to  do  the  thing 
myself!"  said  the  boy;  "I'll  have  no  interference, 
only  go  and  kill  a  Russian  for  meself !  Why  can't 
a  man  go  and  make  it  all  right  with  the  girl  her- 
self, and  not  to  be  having  all  this  ould  bothera- 
tion .  .  .  ?" 

"  Musha ! "  says  Moll,  "  there's  a  great  deal  to  be 
looked  into,  besides  the  girl!" 

So  then  she  went  on  to  talk  of  Kitty,  and  they 
spoke  about  that  over  and  over  and  up  and  down ; 
and  at  long  last  the  spokesman  agreed  to  bring 
Heffernan  across  to  Cusack's  the  very  next 
Sunday;  and  he  sent  word  by  Moll. 

That  all  came  about;  and  very  pleasant  they 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         165 

were,  all  round.  Heffernan  and  a  few  more;  tea 
they  had  and  hot  cake  and  punch  afterwards. 

"I  thought  to  have  the  girl  herself  here,"  said 
Cusack,  "  but  she's  not  willing  to  leave  the  mother, 
that's  'donny'  this  len'th  of  time;  and  besides 
she's  a  bit  timersome  in  herself.  ..." 

"She's  none  the  worse  of  that ! "  says  the  spokes- 
man; "and  anyway,  won't  it  be  time  enough,  when 
we  have  all  settled  .  .  .  we'll  see  her  then.  .  .  ," 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  they  agreed  about 
the  whole  thing,  that  very  evening;  Cusack 
praising  up  the  Dempseys'  farm,  sure,  and  all  the 
fine  grass  it  was  able  to  grow;  and  the  spokesman 
not  one  bit  behind  in  making  much  of  the  Furry 
Farm.  Mickey  himself  said  nothing,  only  sat 
there  smoking  and  looking  into  the  fire. 

And  there's  the  sort  they  were  laying  out  for 
little  Kitty  Dempsey!  and  he  without  a  word  to 
throw  to  a  dog !  But  they  never  minded  him ;  only 
settled  everything,  even  to  having  the  wedding  in 
a  week  from  then.  Heffernan  and  the  boy  went  off 
home,  and  Cusack  went  to  his  bed,  very  satisfied 
with  the  work  he  was  after  putting  over  him. 

Away  with  him  the  very  next  day  to  Dempsey's 
to  tell  Kitty.  He  found  her  very  lonesome  and 
fretted. 


i66         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"I  miss  me  poor  mother,  every  hand's  turn," 
she  said;  "now  that  she's  laid  by  in  her  bed. 
And  I  dunno  at  all  how  I'll  get  to  mind  her,  the 
way  she  should  be  attended  to.  Och,  but  it's  lone- 
some the  place  is,  without  her  voice,  even  to  be 
faulting  me!  And  the  doctor's  bottles  to  be  paid 
for  .  .  .   !" 

So  the  uncle  begins  then  to  advise  Kitty  about 
this  thing  and  that,  and  how  it  was  a  thing  im- 
possible for  her  to  be  thinking  of  going  on  the  way 
she  was;  she  could  never  manage  to  do  all.  And 
then  he  worked  it  round  that  she  ought  to  get 
married.  And  in  the  end  he  spoke  of  the  fine 
match  he  was  after  making  up  for  her. 

"What !  It's  not  ould  Mickey  Heffernan ! "  said 
Kitty.  "I  never  seen  the  man,  but  I  remember 
to  hear  me  father,  the  heavens  be  his  bed !  speak  of 
him  as  a  settled  man,  since  I  was  the  height  of  a 
bee's  knee!  An  old  fellah  ..."  and  then  Kitty 
took  to  go  cry  the  father,  that  had  always  been 
so  good  to  her. 

"Hut,  what  at  all!"  said  Cusack;  and  then  he 
began  to  reason  cases  with  Kitty  over  the  mar- 
riage, reminding  her  that  the  mother  was  depend- 
ing out  of  her  then ;  and  what  a  good  thing  it  would 
be  for  them  both,  for  Kitty  to  get  Heffernan  that 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         167 

was  able  and  willing  to  pay  up  the  rent  that  was 
due  on  the  Dempseys'  farm ;  and  how  would  Kitty 
like  for  them  to  be  thrown  out  on  the  roadside, 
instead  of  being  left  in  the  old  home  in  comfort,  and 
having  some  one  sensible  to  do  all  for  them? 

Poor  little  Kitty!  she  cried  down  tears  like  the 
rain.  For  that  was  the  first  that  ever  she  heard  of 
there  being  rent  owing.  It  was  the  mother  that 
had  managed  badly  to  let  that  happen;  she 
couldn't  help  it,  maybe;  and  had  never  told  Kitty 
a  word  about  it. 

Kitty  said  now,  would  the  uncle  wait  a  bit,  till 
she  could  think  it  over?  But  Cusack  saw  no  sense 
in  that;  he  being  an  experiented  man  in  business 
and  money  and  all  to  that.  He  knew  there  might 
only  be  unpleasantness,  if  there  was  any  delay. 
And  maybe  Heffernan  might  change  his  mind 
about  paying  up,  and  then  wouldn't  he  only  have 
had  his  trouble  for  nothing,  and  Kitty  not  settled, 
and  where  would  the  rent  come  from?  Cusack 
hadn't  it,  nor  wouldn't  know  where  to  look  for  it. 

So  he  just  told  Kitty  that  the  gale-day  was 
coming  round  very  shortly,  and  what  was  she  going 
to  do,  to  make  up  the  rent?  And  that  cowed  her, 
the  crature!  and  she  was  always  biddable.  Sure 
she  got  the  fashion  of  it,  from  the  time  she  was  able 


i68         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

to  walk.  So  she  gave  in  to  what  Big  Cusack 
said. 

In  due  course,  the  day  for  the  wedding  came 
round.  There  was  a  great  gathering  of  the  neigh- 
bours and  friends  at  Dempsey's,  and  everything 
done  in  the  greatest  of  style,  four  bridesmaids  for 
Kitty  no  less.  Cusack  wanted  to  do  the  thing 
right,  when  he  went  about  it,  and  he  took  on  the 
ordering  of  it  all. 

Up  bowls  Heffernan's  side-car,  and  himself  and 
his  friends ;  and  he  with  a  sprig  of  spearmint  in  his 
coat  for  a  buttonhole-bit ;  feeling  as  fresh  in  him- 
self as  a  rolled  ass.  But  he  was  as  white  as  the 
snow  about  the  head,  and  as  lame  as  a  duck,  the 
poor  man!  And  when  they  saw  him,  spraddling 
up  towards  the  house,  "Sure,  that  can't  be  him 
that's  going  to  be  marrit!"  said  one  of  the  brides- 
maids. Not  one  of  them  ever  laid  eyes  on  Mickey 
before.  He  was  never  one  for  going  about,  as  I 
said,  and  in  particular  had  given  up  the  fashion  of 
even  going  to  a  wake,  or  any  place  of  the  kind, 
where  the  boys  and  girls  consort  together,  for 
years  past. 

"  Is  it  a  wife  he  wants,  or  a  coffin?"  says  another 
girl;  "bad  scran  to  him,  what  a  thing  he  wants 
to  go  do,  to  get  a  girl  to  marry  him!" 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         169 

I  needn't  say,  Kitty  wasn't  let  hear  these  re- 
marks. But  of  her  own  accord,  when  Heffernan 
got  up  to  the  door,  she  makes  one  fly,  out  of  the 
kitchen,  and  into  her  own  little  room,  and  begins 
to  cry.  And  the  bridesmaids  went  after  her,  and 
clapped  the  door  to,  and  began  flinging  up  their 
hands,  and  crying  "Och,  wirra,  wirra!"  till  you'd 
think  it  was  keening  at  a  funeral  they  were,  and 
not  at  a  wedding,  where  there  should  be  nothing 
but  rejoicement. 

The  noise  they  made  vexed  Cusack. 

"What  nonsense  is  this?"  he  said;  "let  me  have 
no  more  of  it!  Go  after  Kitty, "  he  said,  "and  tell 
her  I  order  her  to  come  out  here,  at  once !  and  not 
to  be  making  a  Paddy  FitzSummons's  grand- 
mother of  herself.  Let  alone  of  every  one  else!" 
he  says. 

"Och,  give  her  her  time!"  said  Heffernan.  It 
was  remembered  to  him  after,  that  the  only  word 
he  said  at  that  time  was  to  try  to  pass  things  off 
agreeably. 

A  comrade-girl  of  Kitty's,  that  knew  the  ins  and 
outs  of  the  whole  affair,  went  up  into  the  room 
after  her. 

"Come  back  into  the  kitchen,  Kitty  agra!"  che 
said;  "and  give  over  that  work.  .  .  .  Put  by  that 


170         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

pickther  of  poor  Dan  .  .  .  that's  all  done  with 
.  .  .  and  Where's  the  sense  in  heating  up  old 
broth  .  .  .  ?" 

But  Kitty  did  nothing,  only  stand  there  with  her 
face  to  the  wall  in  a  comer,  and  she  crying;  while 
outside  in  the  kitchen,  Cusack  was  raging  like  a  lion. 

"She  should  be  made  to  come  out  here!"  he 
said;  "I  seen  girls  before  now  purshood  through  a 
bog,  and  had  to  be  tied  on  the  car,  to  get  them  to 
the  chapel,  the  way  they  could  be  married.  .  .  . 
Well,  Moll  Reilly,  and  is  that  yourself?" 

"It  is,  it  is,  then!  and  God  save  all  here!"  said 
Dark  Moll,  very  breathless  and  hurried.  ' *  Where's 
Kitty?  Not  that  I  could  see  her!  but  sure  I 
thought  she  would  be  coming  to  bid  me  the  ceud 
milefailtef**' 

Cusack  began  to  whisper  to  Moll,  to  explain 
what  was  going  on.  But  she  seemed  not  to  care  to 
hear  him,  and  only  anxious  to  get  into  where 
Kitty  was. 

"Let  me  at  her;  I'll  go  talk  to  her!"  said  Moll, 
"and  you'll  see  I'll  soon  make  her  I'ave  that, 
before  I  have  done  with  her!" 

And  so  she  did,  too.  But  it  wasn't  exactly  the 
way  Cusack  thought. 

'  Hundred  thousand  welcomes. 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         171 

"Take  care!  Mind  yourself!"  said  he  to  Moll, 
seeing  her  making  a  drive  for  the  door  of  Kitty's 
room,  the  same  as  if  she  had  the  sight  of  her  eyes. 
But  Moll  was  so  taken  up  with  what  she  had  on 
her  mind,  that  for  once  she  forgot  she  was  blind. 

"You're  wanting  without  there!"  said  Moll  to 
the  bridesmaids;  and  when  they  were  gone,  said 
she,  very  quiet  and  easy,  "Who  do  you  think  I'm 
after  seeing  ...  I  mean,  after  meeting  up  with 
.  .  .  there,  a  while  ago?" 

"I  dunno, "  said  Kitty,  giving  a  great  sob. 

"...  and  he  looking  into  the  well  .  .  .  and 
talking  of  how  he  used  to  be  rising  cans  of  water 
there  with  you  .  .  .  and  then  carrying  them  as 
far  as  the  turf-clamp.  ..." 

"Not  Dan!"  said  Kitty.  And  she  turned  first 
as  white  as  paper  and  then  as  red  as  roses. 

"Faith,  who  else?"  said  Moll. 

"  Ora,  what  made  he  come  now?  and  it  too  late ! " 

And  Kitty  began  to  cry  again. 

"Late?  the  sorra  late!"  said  Moll. 

"Why  wouldn't  it  be  late,  and  the  wedding  all 
fixed  up?  ...  let  alone  the  rent  that's  owing. 
..."  Kitty  was  thinking  that  Dan  had  come 
home  as  poor  as  he  went. 

"Och  sure!  'divil  dance  on  the  rint!' — there's 


172         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

the  very  word  Dan  said!"  said  Moll;  "it's  chums 
and  ass-loads  of  money  he  has  with  him,  that  he's 
after  bringing  out  of  America!" 

That  was  only  foolish  talk  of  Moll's.  A  few 
pounds  was  all  Dan  had  been  able  to  gather  up 
while  he  was  away.  But  it  was  enough,  for  all 
that.  To  start  with,  he  had  given  Moll  a  half- 
sovereign  out  of  his  purse,  to  let  him  have  a  word 
with  Kitty.  Ay,  and  had  promised  her  as  much 
more,  if  he  got  her.  And  Moll  had  never  owned 
that  much  before  in  her  life.  Whereas,  all  old 
Heffeman  would  be  good  for  would  be  an  odd 
copper  or  two,  and  maybe  an  apronful  of  potatoes, 
whatever  time  they  would  be  going  to  waste. 

"Poor  Dan,  and  he  only  landed  home  yester- 
day!" said  Moll;  "and  the  fine  figure  of  a  man 
that  he  is!" 

"Ora,  what  will  I  do,  at  all  at  all?"  cried  Kitty, 
with  the  tears  pouring  down  her  face.  They  two 
were  shut  into  Kitty's  room,  while  outside  the 
kitchen  was  full  up  of  people,  fidgeting  about, 
waiting  for  the  bride  to  appear  and  passing  the 
time  by  looking  at  every  mortal  thing  in  the  place. 

The  table  was  all  laid  out  for  the  wedding 
dinner,  the  greatest  you  could  see.  And  when  any 
of  the  Dempseys'   friends  would  pass  remarks. 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         173 

carelesslike,  on  the  fine  white  table-cloth,  or  the 
china  teacups,  or  the  silver  forks  and  spoons ;  they 
well  knowing  that  all  had  been  borrowed  from 
Miss  O'Farrell  above  at  the  Big  House  ...  on  the 
minute,  Heffeman's  spokesman  would  cry  out: 
"We've  bigger  and  betther  at  home,  in  our 
place!" 

But  in  Kitty's  room:  "What  will  you  do,  is  it?" 
Moll  was  saying:  "well,  seeing  the  strong  faction 
that  Heffeman  has  with  him,  there  would  be 
neither  sense  nor  reason  in  Dan  Grennan's  coming 
in  for  you  among  them  all,  and  he  without  one, 
only  himself;  barring  that  he  could  r'ise  a  ruction, 
like  Phaudrig  Crohoore !  But  he  never  could ;  and 
as  he  can't  come  to  you,  you'll  have  to  go  to  him. " 

"How  so?"  says  Kitty;  "they're  the  full  up  of 
the  kitchen,  so  that  I  couldn't  pass  them  by;  and 
as  for  the  window,  it's  that  small  I  needn't  try  that 
way;  so  what  am  I  to  do,  Moll?" 

"Troth,  it's  you  has  little  wit!  What's  to  ail 
you,  only  to  put  on  my  cloak,  and  the  hankercher 
over  your  head,  and  draw  it  well  down  over  your 
eyes  .  .  .  and  who's  to  know  is  it  Dark  Moll  or 
Kitty  Dempsey?  ...  I  mean,  Mrs.  Dan  Grennan, 
that  is  to  be  .  .  .   !" 

"And  then  .  .  .  what  am  I  to  do,  after?"  said 


174         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

Kitty,  with  a  trembling  in  her  voice.  But  there 
was  a  kind  of  little  smile  in  her  eyes,  too. 

Moll  explained  the  thing. 

"You'U  meet  Dan  below,  there  at  the  well. 
Sure  it's  you  that  mightn't  be  surprised  to  see  him 
there,  nor  he  to  see  you,  faith!  And  Heffeman's 
car  is  at  the  comer  below,  just  out  of  sight  of  this 
house. " 

"But  ...  but  .  .  ." 

"And  why  not?  Isn't  that  car  nearly  yours, 
this  minute,  and  haven't  you  every  right,  so,  to 
take  the  lend  of  it?  And  maybe  you  never  would 
have  the  chance  again!  Lepp  up  on  it,  yourself 
and  Dan!  and  off  wid  yiz  to  the  chapel.  Ould 
Father  Brogan  is  laid  up  in  his  bed,  God  assist  him 
from  it,  I  pray!  and  it's  the  new  curate,  that 
doesn't  know  Jack  from  Paddy  in  this  parish,  that 
had  to  be  sent  by  Father  Brogan  this  morning,  to 
marry  you  and  .  .  .  who  will  I  say,  eh,  Kitty?  Is 
it  ould  Heffeman  with  his  critch  and  his  white 
beard  you'll  take,  or  Dan?  You  have  your  choice. 
And  there's  another  thing!  I  gave  word  to  a 
brides-boy  and  girl  to  be  waiting  below  there  on 
the  road,  and  go  with  you,  to  give  an  appearance 
to  it  all,  and  the  way  you'd  not  feel  lonesome  .  .  . 
and  .  .  ." 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         175 

"Are  ye  coming,  Kitty?"  said  Cusack,  with  a 
roar  like  a  bull,  he  was  so  impatient. 

"What'U  I  do  at  all  at  all?"  says  Kitty  to  Moll, 
most  pitiful. 

Moll  opened  the  door  a  little  bit. 

"She'll  be  wid  yous,  in  one  instant  minute  of 
time,"  she  said  to  Cusack  in  a  whisper;  "wait 
imtil  I  go  to  the  well  for  a  sup  of  water,  to  beethe 
her  timples.  .  .  .  It's  no  way  for  a  girl  to  be 
getting  marrit, "  says  Moll,  "to  have  a  pair  of  red 
eyes,  and  a  swelled  nose  upon  her;  and  well  you 
know  that,  Mr.  Cusack!" 

"There's  water  here  in  the  kitchen,"  said 
Cusack.    So  there  was,  plenty. 

"That'll  not  do,  it  must  be  drawn  fresh,"  said 
Moll. 

"I'll  send  a  boy  for  it;  here.  Patsy!  you'll  be 
soupler  than  Moll!" 

"  Ora,  will  you  be  aisy !  that  would  not  answer  at 
all!"  said  Moll.  "I  must  go  for  it  wid  meself  and 
no  one  else  by;  there's  a  char-rum  to  be  said  over 
the  well  .  .  .  and  let  no  one  speak  a  word  to 
Kitty  while  I'm  doing  all  that!" 

"Well,  well,  whatever  you  say!"  said  Cusack. 
He  knew  Moll  to  be  an  experiented  woman  and  so 
she  had  her  way. 


176         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

Moll  then  as  soon  as  she  had  the  door  shut  again 
on  Cusack  and  all  the  people,  was  taking  off  the 
cloak  and  handkerchief  and  giving  all  instructions 
over  again  to  Kitty,  when,  "  Look-at-here ! "  said 
Cusack;  "more  misfortunes!" 

And  over  he  rushed  to  the  hearth,  like  a  red- 
shank, to  where  the  dinner  was  being  cooked.  A 
great,  sudden  cloud  of  steam  was  rising  up,  and 
threatening  to  destroy  everything.  The  pig's  face 
and  greens  was  after  boiling  over  into  the  fire,  and 
all  the  women  gathered  round,  puffing  and  blowing, 
striving  to  keep  down  the  ashes  that  was  powder- 
ing over  the  fine  elegant  goose  they  had  roasting 
in  front  of  the  fire.  The  men  just  stood  round, 
their  hands  in  their  pockets  and  their  mouths 
gaping  open,  not  able  to  do  a  hand's  turn,  only  all 
very  much  engaged  wondering  what  would  be- 
come of  the  dinner.  .  .  . 

As  Moll  said  after,  'twas  God  that  done  it,  that 
started  the  thing,  so  that  she  perceived  'twas  little 
they  would  be  thinking  of  Kitty.  "Here  now, 
here's  your  chance,  and  take  it,  girl  dear!  Throw 
the  cloak  about  ye,  and  dart  while  you're  young ! " 

On  the  word,  there  stepped  out  into  the  kitchen 
(to  all  appearance)  Dark  Moll,  with  her  head 
down,  and  off  she  went  at  a  dog's  trot  to  the  well. 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         177 

And  not  one  even  took  notice  that  she  never  asked 
to  bring  a  can,  or  even  a  noggin  with  her,  to  get  the 
water  in.  In  fact,  not  one  of  the  wedding-party 
thought  of  meddling  with  Moll  (as  they  thought), 
they  were  so  taken  up  with  the  danger  the  goose 
was  running  with  the  ashes. 

But  when  all  that  was  done  with,  they  waited, 
and  they  waited;  at  long  last,  first  one  and  then 
another  slipped  out  to  try  could  they  see  what  was 
delaying  Moll  at  the  well. 

"Where  must  she  be,  the  ould  rap?"  said 
Cusack,  very  short. 

"Here's  her  cloak,  anyway!"  said  a  girl,  picking 
it  up  where  Kitty  had  let  it  fall.  .  .  . 

"Sure,  that's  not  Moll's  cloak,  girl  dear!"  said 
another,  giving  her  a  look  to  say  no  more. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  the  people  beginning  to 
have  a  suspicion  that  something  was  up. 

"Your  car  is  gone,  Mr.  Heffeman,"  said  one, 
and  then  the  spokesman  said,  "So  it  is!  beyant 
there  it  was  heeled  up.  ..." 

"Where's  Kitty?  where's  Kitty?"  shouts  Cu- 
sack, dashing  back  to  the  house,  and  on  into  her 
room. 

Of  course,  it  was  empty.  Moll  had  watched  her 
opportunity  and  had  slipped  out  of  the  house  with 


178         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

the  crowd,  and  whatever  any  one  else  might  have 
thought,  Cusack  took  no  notice,  till  he  ran  out 
again,  and  met  up  with  her  near  the  well.  It 
wasn't  till  then  that  he  began  to  suspect  some 
villainy. 

"Where's  me  niece?  where's  Kitty,  I  ask  ye? 
This  is  some  of  your  tricks,  ye  ould  faggot,  ye!" 
says  Cusack,  very  fierce. 

"Och,  the  Lord  save  us!"  says  Moll,  pretending 
to  cry;  "and  that  he  may  forgive  you,  Mr.  Cusack, 
for  having  the  bad  thought  of  a  poor  dark  woman ! 
Is  it  me  to  go  do  the  like !  Sure  yous  aU  seen  me, 
and  I  going  off  for  the  water  .  .  .  and  it's  what  I 
must  have  took  a  wakeness  and  I  coming  back 
.  .  .  fell  out  of  me  standing,  so  I  did;  sure,  isn't 
there  me  cloak  upon  the  ground,  where  I  had  to 
let  it  down  off  o'  me  shoulders.  ..." 

What  could  Cusack  say  to  that?  And,  indeed, 
no  more  questions  were  asked  then.  For  the 
weight  of  the  people  could  make  a  guess  about 
what  was  going  on.  And  when  the  spokesman 
called  out,  that  they  should  pursue  after  them,  for 
who  coiild  tell  what  might  be  happening  to  Heffer- 
nan's  side-car,  and  a  lot  of  other  boys,  ready  for  a 
bit  of  fun,  began  yoking  up,  there  was  n't  a  bridle 
to  be  found!     Stuck  into  the  heart  of  the  turf- 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         179 

clamp  they  were;  got  there  that  night  late.  But 
no  one  ever  knew  who  put  them  there. 

There  was  nothing  more  to  be  done,  then,  except 
to  gather  back  into  the  house,  and  wait.  And  by 
degrees,  it  appeared  as  if  some  that  were  there 
knew  more  than  they  cared  to  tell.  Whether  they 
did  not,  it  vexed  Heffernan's  party,  who  began  to 
look  inclined  for  fight.  Only  for  Dark  Moll,  in- 
deed, there  might  have  been  a  bit  of  a  row,  but 
she  kept  going  about  from  one  to  another,  talking, 
and  saying  how  that  there  was  no  use  in  crying 
over  spilt  milk,  and  if  Kitty  itself  was  gone,  wasn't 
there  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  came  out  of  it? 
So  they  all  did  their  best  to  make  the  thing  pass 
over  quietly.  The  dinner  was  nearly  ready,  and 
wouldn't  it  be  a  pity,  they  all  thought,  to  have  it 
wasted!  And  Heffernan's  spokesman,  when  Big 
Cusack  said  they  might  as  well  wait  and  take  their 
share  of  whatever  was  going,  agreed,  and  added: 

"  We  might  as  well !  Sure  won't  we  have  to  stay, 
anyway,  till  they're  back  with  the  car!  Mickey 
would  be  hard-set  to  go  any  distance  with  that  leg 
of  his!" 

The  boy  was  young,  and  had  no  intention  of 
losing  his  chance  of  whatever  sport  there  might  be, 
no  matter  who  got  Kitty. 


i8o         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

Heffernan  as  usual  said  nothing.  He  was  look- 
ing very  down  in  the  mouth.  But  who  could 
wonder  at  that,  after  the  way  things  had  gone 
against  him? 

Before  any  more  was  said,  back  rolled  the  car, 
and  Mickey  and  the  spokesman  had  to  make  the 
best  they  could  of  seeing  it,  with  Dan  and  Kitty 
sitting  upon  it!  It  was  fortunate  that  the  new 
curate  that  had  just  married  them  came  with  them, 
for  of  course  every  one  would  be  anxious  to  have  no 
unpleasantness  before  him.  But,  besides,  there 
was  a  girl  with  them,  Margaret  Molally  by  name, 
that  they  had  expected  to  the  wedding,  but  had 
been  delayed;  so  that  when  the  car  overtook  her, 
as  she  was  hurrying  along  to  Dempsey's,  she  was 
glad  enough  to  take  the  lift  they  offered  her.  And 
Dan  got  her  up  beside  him,  he  driving,  while  Kitty 
and  the  curate  sat  together;  and  so  Dan  had 
an  opportimity  of  explaining  the  thing  to  Marg 
Molally. 

Between  her  and  the  young  priest,  everything 
went  off  quite  smoothly.  He  suspected  nothing, 
and  so  it  was  all  the  easier  to  keep  up  appearances 
before  him.  As  for  Marg,  she  just  went  about 
from  one  to  another,  now  attending  to  the  old 
bedridden   mother,   and   now   helping   with   the 


Matchmaking  in  Ardenoo         i8i 

cooking,  or  passing  a  pleasant  remark  to  some  of 
the  strangers  that  were  there.  Heffernan  himself 
showed  up  well.  No  one  could  have  acted  better 
than  he  did  that  day.  He  showed  no  spleen,  but 
when  they  all  had  their  dinners  taken,  and  a  glass 
or  two  was  given  round,  to  set  the  thing  going, 
Mickey  was  the  first  to  take  the  floor  with  the 
bride,  game  leg  and  all;  while  Dark  Moll  played 
up  her  best  with  "Haste  to  the  Wedding!"  and 
"The  Joys  of  Matrimony." 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   SETTLED  GIRL 

It's  often  remarked,  that  one  wedding  brings  on 
another;  as  if,  you'd  really  think,  the  men  were 
like  sheep,  and  if  one  ventures,  the  rest  of  the  flock 
will  follow  the  same  way,  even  if  it's  over  a  cliff  or 
down  the  face  of  a  quarry-hole.  And  that  is  how 
the  neighbours  accounted  to  themselves  for  what 
occurred  at  the  Furry  Farm,  not  long  after  the 
affair  at  Dempsey's  that  is  after  being  related. 
You'd  think  poor  Mickey  had  had  enough  bad  luck 
to  daunt  a  yoimger  man  than  he  was.  Two  fine 
young  girls  he  had  been  after,  and  still,  there  he 
was,  without  a  woman  at  home  to  look  after  the 
place  for  him.  But  in  spite  of  all,  he  appeared  to 
feel  an  interest  in  anything  of  the  sort  that  would 
be  going  on,  as  if  he  thought  by  that  means  to  get 
some  insight  into  how  the  thing  should  be  managed. 
Still  he  couldn't  but  feel  that  he  had  had  enough  of 
looking  for  young,  foolish  persons,  and  that  it 
would  be  fitter  for  him  to  be  thinking  of  one  more 

l82 


A  Settled  Girl  183 

his  own  standing  in  life.  He  may  have  thought 
this  out  for  himself,  or 'it  may  have  been  pure 
Chance  that  brought  him  and  Marg  Molally  to- 
gether; if  there  is  such  a  thing  as  Chance!  Any- 
way Dark  Moll  had  a  hand  in  it  too,  as  usual  with 
such  affairs  about  Ardenoo.  It  certainly  was 
Moll's  doing  that  Marg  was  at  the  wedding  at 
Dempsey's,  and  that  began  the  whole  business, 
though  Mickey  never  cast  a  thought  on  Marg  that 
day  scarcely,  nor  she  on  him,  except  to  be  kind  to 
him;  and  that  she  was  to  every  one  there;  she 
couldn't  be  different. 

As  for  Moll,  the  design  she  had  in  persuading 
Marg  to  go  to  the  wedding  had  nothing  at  all  to  do 
with  Mickey  or  the  Furry  Farm. 

At  that  time,  there  was  not  a  more  lonesome 
creature  in  all  Ardenoo  than  Margaret  Molally! 
She  had  not  long  before  buried  her  father;  and 
that  left  her  without  one  but  herself,  in  the  little 
place  they  had,  a  bit  up  the  boreen  that  borders 
Dempsey's  farm.  So  she  was  sitting  inside  by  the 
fire,  one  fine  morning,  because  she  had  no  heart  to 
do  anything  else,  when  she  heard  some  one  coming 
along  towards  the  house ;  and  by  the  knock-knock 
of  a  stick  upon  the  path  she  guessed  it  to  be  Dark 
Moll,    And  so  it  was. 


184         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"God  save  all  here!"  said  Moll,  groping  her  way 
forward,  till  she  felt  the  half-door,  and  could  lean 
in  over  it.  Blind  and  all  as  she  was,  it  was  seldom 
Moll  missed  her  mark. 

"God  save  yourself,  kindly,  Moll,"  said  Marg, 
getting  up  to  bring  the  blind  woman  in;  "but, 
sure,  there's  no  one  here  now  with  me,  only  meself ; 
and  not  long  I'm  to  be  left  here,  either,  by  all  I 
hear!" 

Her  tears  began  to  flow  down  again  as  she  said 
this. 

"I  got  a  slight  knowledge  of  that,"  said  Moll, 
when  she  got  herself  settled  on  the  stool  by  the  fire, 
that  Marg  led  her  to;  "just  a  whimper  of  it  that  is 
going  about  through  the  people.  But  it's  hard-set 
a  poor  blind  body  does  be,  to  get  at  the  rights  of 
a  story.  Ay,  acushla!  it's  easy  to  deceive  Dark 
Moll!  But  what  I  understand  is,"  she  went  on, 
"that  you'll  have  to  quit  out  of  this;  and,  more- 
over, they  are  all  on  the  same  word  about  it,  that 
it's  bad  treatment  for  your  poor  father's  child! 
Ay,  indeed!" 

"Sure,  who  ever  heard  of  a  girl  being  a  herd 
over  a  farm!"  said  Margaret. 

That  was  the  means  of  living  the  Molallys  had 
had.    The  father  was  herd  on  a  small  holding  of 


A  Settled  Girl  185 

land.  He  was  a  weakly,  delicate  man,  that  was 
seldom  able  for  a  whole  day's  work,  though  willing 
always  to  do  his  best.  But  he  was  a  nice,  respecta- 
ble person,  that  could  be  depended  on,  and  he  had 
the  good  word  of  all  that  knew  him. 

"A  girl  made  herd?"  said  Moll;  "well,  I  dunno! 
and  still  they  all  tell  me  that  it  was  yourself  did 
the  weight  of  the  work  here,  instead  of  the  poor 
father,  those  years  past!" 

"There  was  no  one  else,"  said  Margaret. 

"Wasn't  there  Larry,  your  brother?"  said  Moll; 
"and  he  had  a  right  to  have  stopped  at  home  here, 
to  help  them  that  reared  him,  and  only  the  two  of 
you  in  it;  instead  of  galloping  off  to  America,  the 
way  he  did,  and  leaving  all  to  you  to  do.  ..." 

"That's  all  gone  by  now,"  said  Marg.  She 
didn't  want  to  hear  Larry  blamed;  though  it  was 
his  fault  that  she  was  left  now  poor  and  alone. 

The  name  Larry  Molally  had  in  Ardenoo  was, 
that  he  was  "a  bad  bird,  as  ever  flew!  an  arch- 
thief,  mixing  himself  up  in  every  mischief  about 
the  place,  ever  since  he  could  mitch  from  school. " 

In  spite  of  that,  and  a  great  deal  more  that  the 
neighbours  never  knew,  the  mother  doted  on 
Larry.  It's  often  the  case,  and  the  worse  a  child 
behaves,  the  more  anxious  the  mother  is  to  make 


1 86         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

excuses  for  him;  as  if  he  was  blind  or  deaf,  or  even 
had  not  right  sense.  God  knows,  maybe  that  is  so, 
and  they  go  wrong  because  they  have  not  the  wit 
to  know  the  difference ! 

"Your  poor  mother  that  fretted  for  Larry!" 
said  Moll,  with  a  change  of  time  as  she  noticed  how 
Marg  spoke  of  the  matter. 

"She  did  so!"  said  Marg;  "she  got  Httle  and 
humpy,  and  poor-looking  in  herself,  no  matter 
what  you'd  try  to  do  for  her!  She  never  would 
stir  out  of  that  chimney-comer,  only  spinning  and 
knitting  stockings  to  have  ready  for  Larry,  against 
he'd  come  home  to  her!  God  help  her!  and  there 
they  are  yet,  hanging  by  a  cord  across  the  chimney, 
the  very  way  she  had  them,  when  she  was  took 
bad.  ..." 

"Ay!  died  off  in  the  clap  of  your  hand,  so  she 
did ! "  said  Moll.  "  Well  I  remember  it !  The  light 
of  Heaven  be  with  her  soul,  and  the  soul  of  your 
father,  this  day,  I  pray;  and  what  was  it  ailed  him, 
acushla?" 

"A  cold  he  took,"  said  Marg;  "a  cold  that  went 
in  on  him,  and  turned  to  a  suggestion  on  the  lungs. 
It  was  there,  the  doctor  said,  the  whole  demur  was; 
and  he  lasted  very  short,  only  the  week,  and  went 
off  in  the  night-time,  quiet  and  easy. " 


A  Settled  Girl  187 

"I'm  proud  to  hear  that,"  said  Moll;  "and, 
moreover,  so  best,  not  to  see  him  suffer  long; 
for  when  a  disease  like  that  gets  its  hold  on  you, 
all  the  doctors  from  this  to  Jarminy  won't  be  of 
the  least  assistance!  But  sure,  we  all  have  to  go, 
when  our  time  comes  round;  and  welcome  be  the 
will  of  God!" 

"It  leaves  me  terrible  lonesome  here  this  day!" 
said  Margaret,  wiping  her  eyes  on  her  apron. 

"Ay  are  ye  lonesome,"  said  Moll,  "and  lone- 
some again,  to  the  back  of  that!  But  God  Al- 
mighty gives  some  people  very  quare  treatment. 
.  .  .  That's  a  darling  fine  lot  of  little  goslings  you 
have  there  ...  as  weU  as  a  poor  body  like  me  can 
see  ...  I  mean,  can  teU  by  the  yeepl  yeep!  of 
them.  They'll  be  worth  good  money  to  you,  one 
of  these  days !    How  many  have  you  in  the  flock?  " 

" Six-and- twenty, "  said  Margaret,  "but  sure,  I 
have  no  heart  for  them  or  anything,  now!  and 
don't  know  where  I  can  get  a  roof  over  my  own 
head,  let  alone  the  hens  and  geese,  and  the  poor 
cow,  that's  after  having  twin  calves,  the  finest  that 
you  could  lay  eyes  upon!" 

"Twin  calves!"  said  Moll;  "that  always  is  for 
luck!" 

"Och,  for  luck!"  said  Margaret.     "There's  no 


1 88         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

such  thing  for  me  as  luck.  I  often  wish  I  was  done 
with  everything.  ..." 

"Ora,  what  kind  of  talk  is  that  to  be  having!" 
said  Moll;  "you're  just  down  a  bit  in  yourself, 
girl  dear!  But  you  won't  be  so!  To-morrow's  a 
new  day.  And  did  you  hear  the  great  fine  wedding 
they're  to  have  above  at  Dempsey's;  for  Kitty  and 
old  Mickey  Heffeman?" 

"I  heard  nothing  about  it,  only  that  it  was  to 
be, "  said  Marg,  "and  could  scarce  believe  it.  But 
sure,  let  every  one  please  themselves !  But  as  for 
the  wedding,  I  don't  know  a  ha'porth  about  it!" 

"No,  nor  couldn't,"  said  Moll,  "living  the  way 
you  do,  up  this  lonesome  place!  But  you'll  be 
there  of  course?" 

"I'll  wait  till  I'm  asked!"  said  Marg. 

"And  isn't  that  what  brought  me  here,"  said 
Moll  quickly,  so  quickly  that  Marg  never  sus- 
pected it  was  a  lie  of  Moll's.  She  was  so  well  used 
to  saying  whatever  would  serve  her  turn  that  any 
one  might  be  deceived  into  believing  her.  But 
what  Moll  said  to  herself,  by  way  of  excuse,  was 
that  she  knew  well  Marg  would  be  welcome,  for 
Kitty  Dempsey  had  a  heart  as  big  as  a  box  and 
would  welcome  any  old  friend,  such  as  Marg 
Molally,  with  a  cevd  mile  failte! 


A  Settled  Girl  189 

"Of  course  you're  asked,"  Moll  went  on,  "and 
expected,  too;  and  why  would  you  not  go?  Hold 
up  your  head!  there's  money  bid  for  ye!" 

"I'm  done  with  all  that  sort  of  talk  now,"  said 
Marg;  "that  may  be  left  to  the  yoimg  girls.  ..." 

"I  dimno  about  that!"  said  Moll;  "it  mightn't 
be  too  late  at  all  for  you.  God's  good.  And  you 
never  can  tell  what  floor  you'll  meet  your  luck 
on!" 

"  I  have  no  great  wish  for  going, "  said  Margaret, 
then. 

"Well,  please  yourself,  and  your  friends  will  like 
you  the  better!"  said  Moll;  "only  it's  too  siu-e 
I  am  that  your  father's  child  would  be  welcome  at 
that  wedding !  The  Dempseys  had  always  a  great 
wish  for  the  Molallys;  and  along  with  that,  I  was 
thinking  in  meself,  that  if  you  were  there,  you 
would  be  giving  a  hand  with  the  poor  old  mother. 
She's  more  helpless  this  minute  than  an  infant 
child ;  God  look  down  on  all  them  that  has  no  use 
of  their  legs!" 

"That's  another  thing  altogether,"  said  Marg; 
"maybe  I  would  take  a  streel  up  there.  .  .  .  Mrs. 
Dempsey  often  was  kind  to  us.  .  .  . " 

"Her  tongue  that  was  the  worst  of  her  ..." 
said  Moll,  "but  maybe  she  couldn't  help  it." 


190         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"  Her  bark  was  worse  than  her  bite, "  said  Marg; 
"and  now,  Moll,  sit  over  to  the  table,  and  take 
share  of  the  bit  of  dinner.  ..." 

And  when  that  was  over,  Moll  went  off  to  the 
Dempseys',  and  made  it  all  right  with  Kitty  about 
Margaret  Molally  being  asked  to  the  wedding. 

The  reason  Moll  wanted  that  done  was,  to  bring 
round  a  plan  she  was  trying  to  work  out.  It  was 
for  her  own  good,  but  she  oughtn't  to  be  too  much 
blamed  for  that !  Any  one  like  Moll  has  to  think 
for  themselves.  She  was  just  depending  out  of  God 
and  the  neighbours ;  along  with  any  little  trifle  she 
could  make  out  by  the  old  fiddle,  playing  at  fairs, 
or  wakes  or  weddings,  as  the  case  might  be.  But 
it  wasn't  much  she  ever  got  in  that  way,  and  she 
never  expected  more  than  a  few  coppers.  People 
can't  give  what  they  have  not  got.  There  were 
other  helps  that  Moll  looked  to;  such  as  stopping 
at  Molally's  for  a  night  or  so,  and  getting  a  meal 
there,  when  she  would  be  in  that  direction.  The 
Molallys  were  good  to  her;  and  so  she  didn't 
like  the  notion  of  Marg's  leaving  that  house,  and 
maybe  whoever  would  come  after  her  might  not 
be  so  agreeable. 

This  is  why  Moll  was  making  up  a  match  in  her 
own  mind,  for  Margaret,  with  a  boy  that  was  a 


A  Settled  Girl  191 

second  cousin's  son  of  her  own,  and  that  was  very- 
well  acquainted  with  Mickey  Heffernan,  being  in 
fact  his  spokesman  at  that  time,  and  having  made 
up  the  match  for  him  with  Kitty  Dempsey.  Moll 
knew  that  this  boy,  Jack  Rorke  by  name,  would  be 
at  the  wedding,  of  course;  and  her  idea  was  to  get 
him  and  Marg  acquainted.  Then  there  might 
be  another  wedding,  between  them;  Jack  Rorke 
might  slip  in  for  the  herding  that  old  Molally  used 
to  have,  and  Marg  could  remain  on  in  her  home. 
But  above  all,  in  that  case,  Moll  would  still  be  able 
to  stop  there  when  it  suited  her,  and  get  the  best  of 
treatment,  as  she  always  had,  from  the  Molallys. 

Moll  was  right  about  the  Dempseys. 

"It's  proud  we'll  be  to  see  any  old  friends  here 
that  day,  such  as  one  of  the  Molallys,"  said  Big 
Cusack,  who  was  managing  the  whole  thing  for 
Kitty. 

"  I  was  siure  of  that, "  said  Moll,  "and  I'm  ready 
and  willing  to  call  over  and  bring  poor  Marg  any 
message  you  send.  ..." 

Cusack  was  sitting  outside  the  door,  smoking  a 
pipe,  and  he  went  on  to  say,  "What  I  often  do  be 
thinking  is,  why  isn't  that  fine  decent  girl  married 
herself?" 

"Musha,  then  you  couldn't  tell,  nor  no  one 


192         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

could!"  said  Moll;  "nor  yet  how  a  thing  of  the 
kind  might  come  about  still!" 

"Good  and  hard-working  she  is,"  said  Cusack, 
"and  comes  of  a  decent  stock.  And  I  understand 
she  has  a  snug  little  fortune,  that  the  poor  father 
laid  by  for  her,  too.  I  don't  know,  in  this  world 
wide,  what  the  boys  can  be  thinking  about,  that 
she's  not  married  long  ago!  They  have  no 
sense,  or  one  of  them  would  have  had  her  before 
this!" 

"Well,  it's  often  I  heard  it  said, "  answered  Moll, 
"that  every  dog  has  his  day;  and  that  every 
woman  gets  her  chance;  and  so  it  will  be  with 
Marg!" 

She  was  thinking  of  the  young  cousin  she  had  in 
her  mind,  to  marry  Marg.  Little  she  or  any  one 
else  except  herself  and  the  one  boy  knew  that 
Margaret  Molally  had  had  her  chance,  years  ago, 
and  had  let  it  pass  her  by!  Marg  was  like  other 
girls  in  that.     But  the  difference  was  in  herself. 

People  talk  about  girls  and  courting  as  if  they 
were  all  made  after  the  one  pattern,  and  what  one 
does  is  the  same  as  all  the  rest.  But  girls  are  as 
different  in  their  natures  as  in  their  looks.  Some 
are  all  for  fun  with  any  boy  they  meet ;  and  others 
are  as  shy  and  as  silent  and  stiff  as  a  young  filly  off 


A  Settled  Girl  193 

the  side  of  a  mountain ;  and  there  are  good  and  bad 
of  both  sorts. 

Margaret  was  one  of  the  quiet  ones;  timid  and 
proud  and  humble  always,  though  she  needn't  have 
been,  she  was  so  fine  and  handsome.  She  would 
take  the  eye,  anywhere,  so  that  you  would  think 
she  might  pick  and  choose  among  the  boys  of 
Ardenoo.  So  whatever  made  her  take  a  fancy  to 
Patsy  Ratigan,  it  would  be  hard  to  explain.  For 
he  was  what  is  known  as  a  "bit  of  a  play-boy"; 
always  up  to  some  sport;  as  different  from  Marg 
as  dark  is  from  day.  But  she  thought  that  the  sun 
shone  out  of  Patsy;  and  they  would  have  made  a 
match  of  it,  sure  enough,  only  for  Marg's  brother 
going  off  to  America,  the  way  he  did. 

That  was  what  upset  all  Margaret's  plans.  In 
the  first  place,  she  saw  very  plainly  that  it  would 
never  do  for  her  to  be  thinking  of  her  own  concerns, 
or  to  dream  of  leaving  the  old  people.  The  father 
was  failing  in  health,  and  the  poor  mother  coiild 
do  nothing  but  fret  after  Larry.  That  wasn't  all. 
When  Larry  went,  he  had  taken  Marg's  fortune 
with  him ;  took  it  down  from  where  it  was  hidden, 
up  in  the  thatch,  to  pay  his  passage  to  America! 
the  money  that  was  saved  for  Margaret,  and  that 
she  herself  had  helped  to  put  together! 
13 


194         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

A  mean,  bad  trick  it  was  of  Larry's,  so  much  so 
that  the  Molallys  could  not  say  a  word  about  it, 
for  shame's  sake,  to  think  that  their  son  should  rob 
his  own  sister.  At  least,  that  is  how  Margaret  and 
the  father  felt.  But  the  poor  mother  took  his  part 
even  then,  and  said,  why  wouldn't  he  take  it! 
Hadn't  a  son  as  good  a  right  as  a  daughter  to 
anything  about  the  place?  and  better,  too!  And 
then  she  cried  and  said,  she  never  thought  Marg 
would  grudge  his  share  to  poor  Larry !  and  he  her 
only  brother,  and  no  harm  in  him,  only  a  bit  of 
foolishness. 

Marg  said  no  more.  But  she  knew  well  that  once 
the  money  was  gone,  it  was  gone  for  good  and  all ; 
they  need  never  hope  to  get  so  far  before  the  world 
again.  And  she  would  never  marry  into  the 
Ratigans  unless  she  could  bring  money  with  her, 
to  have  them  passing  remarks  about  her  and  her 
people. 

Most  of  the  money  that  Larry  took  away  with 
him  had  been  put  together  by  Mrs.  Molally  and 
Margaret.  Whatever  they  made  by  their  eggs  and 
butter  and  so  on  they  saved  for  Marg's  fortune, 
and  added  it  to  anything  the  father  could  lay  by 
for  the  same  piu-pose,  after  the  rent  and  other 
debts  were  paid.    That  was  little  enough!    But 


A  Settled  Girl  195 

the  two  women  would  always  be  having  something 
to  sell.  Mrs.  Molally,  in  particular,  was  noted  for 
that.  It  was  sometimes  said  that  all  she  wanted 
was  to  get  Marg  married  and  "from  imder  her  feet 
in  the  house,  the  way  she  could  have  the  place  to 
herself  and  be  looking  after  the  father  and  Larry, 
without  any  one  else  to  interfere  between  them.'* 
That  might  be;  she  might  have  felt  jealous  of  the 
way  the  father  had,  of  looking  to  Margaret  for  his 
pipe  of  an  evening,  or  the  clean  collar  for  Mass  on 
Sunday.  And  many  a  mother  has  to  let  her  girl 
get  the  upper  hand  of  her  at  her  own  fireside.  But 
Mrs.  Molally  wouldn't  have  that  at  all ;  why  would 
she,  a  fine,  able  woman  she  was,  at  that  time?  And 
she  never  cared  for  Margaret  a  bit  the  way  she  did 
for  Larry. 

But  all  her  plans  failed  with  the  poor  woman. 
Her  heart's  darling,  Larry,  went  off,  without  even 
saying  good-bye  to  her  or  any  one  in  the  old 
home  .  .  .  of  course,  he  might  have  been  ashamed, 
seeing  he  was  robbing  them  at  the  same  time ;  and 
Margaret  was  left  with  her,  the  daughter  that  she 
would  have  given  cheerfully,  body  and  bones,  for 
Larry's  little  finger.  And  all  the  savings  of  years 
gone  too. 

With  things  like  that,  Margaret  made  up  her 


196         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

mind  to  give  no  more  encouragement  to  Ratigan, 
at  least  for  a  while.  Still,  she  would  scarcely  have 
broken  with  him  the  way  she  did,  if  she  had  seen 
him  soon  after  Larry  disappeared.  Her  heart  was 
very  sore  then,  not  alone  the  disappointment  and 
disgrace  about  Larry,  but  the  way  the  mother  was 
taking  it,  as  if  she  was  inclined  to  lay  blame  upon 
Marg  herself. 

Ratigan  had  the  fashion  of  strolling  up  of  an 
evening  to  Molally's,  on  the  chance  of  meeting 
Marg  out  through  the  fields;  for  she  used  to  go 
through  them,  to  count  the  cattle,  to  save  her 
father  from  walking  all  the  land,  when  maybe  he 
would  be  feeling  tired.  Marg  did  that  faithfully 
for  him,  and  I  need  not  say,  it  came  all  the  easier 
to  her  when  Patsy  Ratigan  would  join  her  and  have 
a  chat  with  her. 

She  never  knew,  till  after  Larry  went,  how  much 
she  used  to  count  on  seeing  Ratigan;  for  although 
she  had  no  intention  of  telling  him,  or  any  one  else, 
all  that  had  taken  place,  it  would  have  cheered  her 
to  have  a  word  with  some  one  young  like  herself, 
and  that  would  have  been  able  to  speak  of  other 
things.    The  old  people  could  do  nothing  but  fret. 

But  Ratigan  never  came,  for  over  a  week.  It 
was  really  nothing  worse  than  a  bit  of  a  spree  that 


A  Settled  Girl  197 

he  was  on,  as  had  often  occurred  before,  without 
Margaret's  knowing  exactly  what  was  going  on. 
But  to  have  it  happen  now!  Margaret  thought 
the  wide  world  was  overshadowed  by  their  trouble, 
and  she  could  not  understand  why  Ratigan  did  not 
come  to  help  to  lighten  it  for  her. 

So  she  was  half  wild  with  grief  and  longing  and 
disappointment  the  evening  that  Larry  did  at  last 
appear  again. 

"Good-evening,  Marg,"  he  called  out  to  her, 
where  she  was  standing  in  a  wide  pasture  field; 
"let  me  get  beyant  them  bullocks  for  you,  and 
head  them  back.  .  .  .  You're  a  bit  late,  aren't 
ye?" 

She  was,  and  it  was  growing  dusk. 

"  I'm  obliged  to  ye, "  said  Marg,  feeling  her  face 
stiffening  as  she  spoke;  "but  when  I  want  help, 
I'll  ask  it!" 

"What's  astray  with  ye?" 

"Nothing  in  life,"  she  said,  raising  her  eyes  to 
Patsy's  face,  and  he  looked  so  smiling  and  careless 
that  she  could  not  stop  herself  from  going  on, 
"only  I'm  of  the  opinion  that  every  one  should 
mind  their  own  business!" 

"I'll  be  making  off  with  meself,  in  that  case," 
said  Ratigan. 


198         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"You  might  do  worse,"  said  Margaret. 

And  all  the  time,  she  could  have  bitten  her 
tongue  out,  that  said  such  bitter  things  to  him. 

Ratigan  was  said  to  be  a  "bit  short  in  the 
temper. "  But  any  one  might  have  been  vexed  at 
what  Marg  had  said  then.  He  just  turned  off,  and 
went  away,  without  another  word.  And  not  long 
afterwards,  Margaret  heard  that  he,  too,  had 
quitted  out  for  America. 

There  were  people  to  say,  that  Patsy  Ratigan 
had  reasons  of  his  own  for  going,  and  that  he  didn't 
leave  imtil  he  could  not  do  anything  else.  But 
Margaret  knew  nothing  of  that.  Girls  never  do 
know  half  the  queer  things  that  the  boys  are  up  to ! 
If  they  did,  there  would  be  more  of  them  sitting 
contentedly  at  home,  and  better  off  there,  than 
marrying.  But  they  won't  believe  that,  nor 
wouldn't,  if  you  were  to  put  your  eyes  upon  sticks ! 

No,  Marg  knew  nothing  of  Patsy's  wild  doings. 
She  thought  he  went  away  because  she  had  spoken 
so  coldly  to  him  that  evening.  And  though  she 
often  said  to  herself,  that  it  was  better  so,  and 
that  anyway,  on  account  of  the  money  being  gone, 
she  would  have  had  to  give  him  up,  still  .  .  .   ! 

Many  and  many  a  night,  when  all  the  world  was 
asleep  around  her,  Margaret  would  be  lying  awake, 


A  Settled  Girl  199 

and  would  cry  a  sackftil,  thinking  of  Patsy,  and 
wondering  would  he  meet  Larry,  for  weren't  they 
both  in  America!  And  had  she  any  right  to  be 
short  with  him? 

She  had  done  it  all  for  the  best,  but  even  that 
won't  keep  you  from  fretting,  when  a  thing  is  past, 
and  you  feel  that  you  went  against  your  own  heart, 
and  still,  you  have  room  to  wonder,  were  you  right? 
or  would  it  have  been  better  to  have  left  it  alone? 

But  Almighty  God  doesn't  ever  bring  back  the 
past.  Of  course,  He  could,  if  He  chose;  but  all 
we  know  is,  that  He  never  does.  Marg  was  often 
heart-sick,  going  over  what  had  been  said,  between 
herself  and  Ratigan,  that  evening  in  the  pasture 
field.  And  it  was  long  enough  before  she  gave  up 
fancying  that  if  only  she  looked  down  the  boreen 
at  dusk,  she  would  see  Ratigan  going  along  home 
from  his  work,  with  his  coat  thrown  loosely  across 
his  shoulders,  and  he  whistling,  and  jigging  a  step 
now  and  then.  Patsy  was  as  lovely  a  dancer  of  a 
reel  as  you  need  ask  to  see.  Margaret  then  did  her 
best  to  stop  thinking  about  him  at  all. 

"I'll  not  expect  to  hear  a  word  afore  Hollintide! " 
she  would  say  to  herself,  and  begin  maybe  coimt- 
ing  eggs  she  would  be  about  bringing  to  Melia's 
shop.    Then  it  was,  "afore  the  Chrisemas";  and 


200         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

then  "Shrove  Tuesday."  So  she  wore  the  time 
away,  measuring  it  by  the  Saints' -days  and  holi- 
days.   But  not  a  sign  did  Ratigan  make. 

Not  long  after,  the  mother  died;  and  with  this 
new  loss,  the  sharpness  of  the  pain  round  her  heart 
about  Patsy  began  to  wear  off,  by  degrees.  One 
consolation  she  had;  not  one  but  herself  and  Rati- 
gan ever  knew  that  they  had  been  "speaking"; 
as  far  as  she  could  tell. 

So  the  years  rolled  on,  and  Marg  Molally  was 
getting  to  be  what  you  might  call  a  "settled  girl"; 
quieter  and  more  retired  on  herself  than  ever.  She 
seemed  to  have  no  wish  for  doing  anything,  except 
minding  the  old  father  and  their  little  place.  And 
she  was  beginning  to  grow  more  contented,  every 
day  that  passed  over  her  head.  She  had  plenty  to 
keep  her  going,  from  dawn  till  dark;  and,  moreover, 
her  heart  was  in  her  work,  for  she  was  kind  to  every 
living  thing  under  her  care. 

"It's  pets  Marg  makes,  out  of  even  the  ducks 
she  rears!"  the  neighbours  would  say.  "Blue 
ribbons  you'll  see  next,  tied  round  the  lambs' 
necks!  sich  nonsense  to  be  getting  on  with!  as  if 
she  wouldn't  have  enough  to  do,  without  that 
foolishness!" 

Whether  she  ever  went  so  far  as  that  or  not,  I 


A  Settled  Girl  201 

can't  say ;  but  whatever  she  had,  throve  ahead.  And 
as  for  the  young  lambs  that  she  would  rear  on  the 
cup,  wouldn't  any  one  be  fond  of  them !  To  see  how 
they'll  run  races  with  one  another,  a  whole  flock  of 
them!  and  play  up  and  down  a  sunny  bank!  Any 
one  would  feel  delighted  to  be  watching  them. 

And  a  lone  woman  like  Marg  has  her  feelings, 
just  the  same  as  one  that  has  a  houseful  of  children. 
If  you  try  to  stop  spring  water  from  running  its 
own  course,  won't  it  take  and  bubble  out  by  some 
other  vent?  And  so  by  Marg.  She  had  to  be 
caring  for  something.  And  she  did  it  well;  and, 
signs  on  it,  there  was  a  look  of  comfort  and  order 
about  her  little  home,  that  every  one  noticed.  And 
money's  worth  had  gathered  there,  too;  though  of 
course  the  old  stocking  that  Larry  had  emptied  had 
never  been  filled  again.  Above  all,  the  old  father 
was  cherished  and  made  happy,  in  every  way  that 
was  possible.  Marg  thought  nothing  a  trouble  that 
she  could  do  for  him.  In  fact,  nothing  was  any 
trouble  to  her,  that  he  wished  done.  Love  makes 
easy  labour. 

Then  he  died;  and  lonesome  and  fretted  was 
Margaret,  when  she  foimd  herself  without  him, 
and  not  knowing  where  she  would  turn  to  make 
herself  a  home  again. 


202         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

And  still  she  found  herself  going  off  to  the  wed- 
ding at  Dempsey's  that  had  occasioned  so  much 
talk  at  Ardenoo.  Marg  went,  but  she  kept  herself 
very  quiet  all  through.  There  was  a  great  deal 
that  wanted  doing  at  Dempsey's  that  day,  what 
with  the  helpless  old  woman  and  everything  else; 
and  Marg  would  rather  be  putting  her  hand  to 
business  such  as  getting  dinner  ready,  or  putting 
down  the  fire,  than  to  be  mixed  up  with  the  young 
boys  and  girls  and  their  jokes  and  fun. 

That  is  how  it  happened  that  scarcely  any  one 
that  was  there  took  notice  of  Margaret;  and 
Heffeman  in  particular  knew  nothing  of  her  being 
there  among  the  other  people,  until  he  had  done 
the  dance  with  Kitty.  It  was  no  right  thing  to  do, 
to  persuade  a  man  like  Mickey  that  was  on  in 
years,  and  stiff,  as  well  as  lame  of  one  leg,  till  they 
got  him  out  on  the  floor  to  dance,  just  to  raise  a 
laugh.  But  what  do  young  people  think  of  only  to 
get  their  bit  of  fun  where  they  can! 

When  the  dance  was  over,  Heffeman  was  ready 
to  drop,  puffing  and  blowing,  and  he  staggered 
over  to  where  Dark  Moll  was  sitting,  playing  her 
fiddle,  with  Margaret  close  beside  her.  Up  she 
jumped  at  sight  of  Mickey,  to  leave  a  seat  empty 
for  the  poor  old  fellow ;  and  the  way  he  would  not 


A  Settled  Girl  203 

be  thinking  that  she  did  that  on  purpose,  she  said, 
"Now  that's  over,  we  may  as  well  be  getting  ready 
another  round  of  tay;  dancing  is  drouthy  work!" 

So  she  went  over  to  the  hearth,  to  take  up  the 
teapot  out  of  the  ashes  where  she  was  keeping  it 
warm;  and  Dan  Grennan  was  standing  there,  and 
talking  about  all  the  sights  and  queer  ways  he  met 
in  America. 

"And  who  should  I  bob  up  against,  only  last 
winter, "  he  went  on,  "but  a  near  neighbour  of  our 
own  here  .  .  .  one  of  the  Ratigans  .  .  .  yous 
remember  Patsy?" 

At  that  word,  Margaret  turned  very  white,  and 
she  stooped  down,  as  if  she  wanted  to  rake  the 
ashes  together.  And  said  some  one,  "How  is 
Patsy  doing  out  there?  Has  he  anny  intentions  of 
coming  home  for  a  wife,  like  yourself?" 

"Och,  the  divil  an  intention!"  said  Dan;  "sure, 
isn't  he  well  settled  in  there  already?  He's  marrit 
this  len'th  of  time;  to  a  widdy  woman  with  a  fine 
shop  and  a  family  too.  ..." 

Marg  raised  herself  up  then,  and  her  face  was 
blazing,  and  her  eyes  like  coals  of  fire.  But  she  said 
nothing;  only  went  back,  quiet  and  easy,  to  the 
comer  where  she  had  been  sitting,  and  began  by 
offering  the  first  of  the  tea  to  Heffeman.     And 


204         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

when  he  had  it  taken,  he  looked  up  at  Marg,  very 
gratefully. 

"That's  good!"  he  said;  "that's  the  way  I 
like  tay !  hot  and  sweet,  and  that  strong,  you  could 
raddle  lambs  with  it!" 

Truth  to  tell,  there  was  no  scarcity  nor  meanness 
of  any  kind  at  that  wedding;  Dark  Moll  found  it 
hard  to  carry  away  her  share  of  what  was  left  over, 
when  every  one  had  had  enough. 

In  spite  of  what  she  got,  and  the  good  treatment 
she  met  with,  she  was  discontented  in  her  own 
mind.  For  do  what  she  would,  she  could  not  get 
Margaret  into  discourse  with  the  boy  she  had  laid 
out  for  her.  But  Moll  was  as  steadfast  as  a  weasel 
to  any  plan  that  ever  she  formed. 

It  might  have  been  a  month  or  more  after  the 
wedding  at  the  Dempseys',  that  Mickey  Heffeman 
was  outside  in  front  of  his  house,  sitting  on  the  bit 
of  old  wall,  because  the  height  of  it  just  favoured 
the  game  leg,  and  enabled  him  to  rest  himself  with- 
out having  to  stoop.  He  was  feeling  lonesome,  and 
looking  as  forgotten  as  a  hen  without  a  tail.  Small 
blame  to  him,  if  he  did  feel  down  in  the  mouth! 
after  the  trick  that  was  played  on  him,  and  that 
lost  him  the  fine  young  wife  he  thought  to  bring 
home  to  the  Furry  Farm.    And  then,  to  make  it 


A  Settled  Girl  205 

worse,  to  see  how  simply  little  Barney  Maguire 
could  get  a  woman !  and  one  that  seemed  smtable 
every  way  you  looked  at  it. 

Mickey  had  been  there  for  some  time,  when  he 
heard  a  cough.  He  looked  round,  and  who  was  it, 
a  few  perch  away  on  the  road,  but  Dark  Moll. 

"Hi!"  shouted  Mickey  to  her;  "where  are  you 
off  to,  in  such  a  murthering  hiury,  Moll?" 

"Who's  that,  that's  calling  me,  in  the  name  of 
God?"  said  Moll,  in  a  small,  weak  kind  of  a  voice, 
as  if  she  was  frightened  at  hearing  him. 

"Sure  it's  only  me  .  .  .  Mr.  Heffernan,"  said 
Mickey ;  '  *  who  else  ? ' ' 

"The  Lord  save  us!  and  is  it  a-by  the  Furry 
Farm  I  am?" 

"Where  else?"  said  Mickey. 
"Well,  now,  isn't  it  the  poor  case  to  have  no  use 
of  your  eyes, "  said  Moll. 

But  well  she  knew  where  she  was!  and  had  in- 
tended in  her  own  mind  to  get  a  chance  of  talking 
to  the  boy.  Jack  Rorke,  that  she  wanted  for  Marg, 
and  thought  might  be  with  Heffernan  yet.  And 
along  with  that,  she  thought  of  having  a  chat  with 
Heffernan  himself  to  see  if  he  woiild  be  willing  to 
put  in  a  good  word  for  Jack,  and  recommend  him 
for  the  herding  that  Marg  was  to  be  put  out  of, 


2o6         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

now  the  father  was  dead.  For  Heffernan  being 
a  respectable,  well-thought-of  person,  a  character 
from  him  would  be  worth  having. 

"Come  along  in,  Moll,"  said  Heffernan,  "and 
give  us  any  news  that's  going!" 

"I'll  take  a  sate,  and  be  thankful  to  ye,  Mr. 
Heffernan,"  said  Moll.  "But  for  news  .  .  . 
sorra  bit  of  '  chaw-the-rag  *  there  is  to  be  had,  as 
far  as  poor  ould  Moll  can  tell!" 

Moll  knew  that  scarcely  anything  was  being 
spoken  over  still  at  that  time,  in  all  Ardenoo, 
but  the  wedding  at  Dempsey's;  and  she  didn't 
want  to  let  Heffernan  hear  of  that  through  her. 

"And  how  did  ye  get  this  far?"  asked  Mickey. 

"Shanks'  mare,"  answers  Moll.  "Stopping  be- 
low there  at  Molally's  I  was  last  night  and 
thought  to  get  carried,  with  Marg  and  the  ass, 
when  they  went  off  to  the  fair  this  morning.  But 
at  the  last  minute,  she  made  up  her  mind  to  part 
them  twin  calves  of  hers,  if  she  could  get  any  kind 
of  a  price  for  them.  Sure  she  doesn't  know  what 
way  to  turn,  the  crathur,  and  annoyed  she  is  try- 
ing to  think  what  to  do,  and  she  having  to  quit  out 
of  her  own  little  place  ...  so  there  was  only 
room  for  the  two  little  bastes  in  the  cart,  and  her 
and  me  had  to  walk;  we  parted  company  a  piece 


A  Settled  Girl  207 

off  and  she  went  along  on  to  the  fair,  and  I  was  to 
wait  about  ...  I  had  no  wish  to  go  any  farther, 
not  feehng  too  well.  .  .  .  And  I  wonder  what  luck 
poor  Marg  is  having,  or  did  she  sell  at  all?  I  hear 
there's  a  big  droop  in  the  price  of  all  stock.  But 
sure,  it's  better  for  a  body  be  moving  somewhere, 
even  if  it's  only  to  get  you  a  prod  of  a  thorn  in  the 
toe!" 

"Marg?  that'll  be  a  dauther  of  old  Molally's 
bey  ant,  that  is  only  after  dying?"  said  Heffeman. 

"The  very  person,"  said  Moll;  "nice  and  even- 
going  and  quiet,  and  the  girl  the  same.  And  not 
one  in  it  now,  only  herself!" 

"  It's  a  poor  thing,  to  be  with  only  a  body's  self, 
then!"  said  Mickey;  "the  same  as  me;  I  haven't 
one  about  the  place  inside  or  out,  but  meself ;  and 
I  wanting  to  go  to  the  fair  to  look  for  a  couple  or 
three  calves  and  pigs.  But  how  could  I  and  leave 
the  house  without  one  to  keep  an  eye  on  things 
here,  while  I'd  be  away!" 

"  Do  you  tell  me  that?  why,  where's  your  sarvint 
boy,  Jack  Rorke  it  was  you  had  lastly!" 

"Gone!"  says  Heffeman;  "he  gave  me  impi- 
dence;  said,  indeed,  that  he  had  no  notion  of 
lighting  the  fire  or  swinging  on  a  pot  to  boil  .  .  . 
that  it  was  girl's  work  I  was  expecting  of  him.    So 


2o8         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

with  that,  I  let  out,  and  hit  him  a  ding  in  the  face. 
I  thought  to  give  him  a  knuckle  in  the  throat,  but 
it  was  the  jaw-bone  I  struck;  and  see  the  way  it 
left  me!  But  sure  I  forgot;  you  can't  see  that,  or 
anything  else!" 

"The  Lord  help  you!"  said  Moll,  very  pityingly. 
"And  where  is  Jack?" 

"I  never  laid  an  eye  on  him  since, "  said  Hefler- 
nan,  indifferently;  then,  getting  confidential,  "I'm 
disappointed  and  put  about,  every  way!  Look  at 
me  now,  and  I  after  getting  all  the  house  white- 
washed, and  even  a  fresh  load  of  gravel  thrown 
down  before  the  door  .  .  .  and  a  new  leg  after 
going  into  the  kitchen  table  .  .  .  and  all  that 
trouble  and  expense  gone,  for  nothing  as  a  body 
might  say!" 

"You  may  say  that!"  said  Moll;  "things  do 
turn  out  very  contrairy  betimes,  and  let  people  do 
their  best  endayvours!  Here  now,"  she  went  on, 
"is  a  pair  of  stockings  I'm  after  knitting  for  Jack 
that's  a  third  cousin  of  me  own  ..."  for  she 
wanted  now  to  make  some  excuse  up  for  having 
come  there  at  all;  "but  now,  as  he's  not  with  you, 
I  dunno  will  I  give  them  to  him  at  all!" 

"He's  not  worthy  of  them,"  said  Mickey,  eye- 
ing the  stockings  in  Moll's  hand,  and  from  them 


A  Settled  Girl  209 

looking  down  to  where  his  own  were  showing  above 
the  rims  of  his  brogues,  and  thinking  that  there 
was  scarcely  an  inch  of  the  same  stockings  but  was 
holes,  for  the  want  of  some  woman  to  dam  them 
for  him;  "Jack's  not  worthy  of  them.  But  as  you 
have  them  this  far,  if  you'd  sooner  not  be  having 
to  carry  them  back  again,  you  can  just  leave  them 
here,  and  I'll  see  to  make  some  use  of  them. " 

"They'd  not  be  suitable  for  your  wear,  Mr. 
Heffeman, "  said  Moll;  "just  only  coarse,  plain 
knitting  of  me  own  pattern.  ..."  Moll  had  no 
wish  to  let  Mickey  have  them  at  all.  He  was 
known  to  be  a  bit  near  and  "grabbish";  and  she 
knew  he'd  not  give  her  more  than  maybe  a  handful 
of  meal  or  a  few  potatoes  for  the  stockings. 

"Och,  they're  not  too  bad  at  all,"  said  Heffer- 
nan.  He  liked  nothing  better  than  to  get  some- 
thing for  nothing.  So  Moll  then  changed  her 
time. 

"Well,  sure  you're  welcome  to  them!  or  any- 
thing else  I'd  have,  only  they're  not  good  enough 
.  .  .  but  a  poor  ould  body  like  me,  it's  little  I  have 
at  any  time.  .  .  .  And  is  it  gone  for  good  Jack 
Rorke  is?"  she  said. 

"Good  or  bad,  he's  gone  out  of  this;  and  far 
better  off  I  am,  without  him  or  the  likes  of  him!" 
14 


2IO         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

said  Mickey;  "he's  as  stupid  as  a  kishful  of 
brogues.    And  lazy  along  with  all!" 

Heffeman  went  on  talking  like  this,  never  re- 
membering that  Moll  had  said  Jack  was  a  cousin 
of  hers.  But  he  was  a  bit  stupid  himself,  as  well 
as  the  boy  he  was  abusing.  And  Moll  was  too  cute 
to  let  him  see  if  she  was  vexed.  Anyway,  what  did 
she  care  about  Jack?  and  in  particular  when  it  was 
from  a  man  like  Heffeman  that  the  talk  and  fault- 
finding was  coming. 

"He  was  fit  for  nothing  in  life, "  Mickey  went  on, 
"only  standing  about,  watching  a  hen  to  go  lay! 
I'm  well  rid  of  Jack !  But  I'll  have  to  get  some  one 
in  his  place!  I'm  not  all  out  as  souple  as  I  used 
to  be!" 

Well,  that  minute  a  new  plan  came  into  Moll's 
mind.  She  saw  only  too  plainly  that  Jack  Rorke 
would  have  no  chance  of  a  character  from  Heffer- 
nan;  and  without  that,  from  the  last  man  that 
had  employed  him,  Jack  would  never  get  the 
herding. 

So,  as  quick  as  a  flash,  she  began  on  a  new  tack. 

"It's  a  woman  you  want  here,  Mr.  Heffeman! 
getting  married  is  what  you  have  a  right  to  be 
thinking  about.  ..." 

She  felt  a  trifle  awkward  in  saying  that  word 


A  Settled  Girl  211 

"married,"  seeing  the  hand  she  had  had  in  the 
Dempsey  wedding.  But  Heffeman  made  her  no 
answer.  It  appeared  really  as  if  he  never  knew 
rightly  whether  to  laugh  or  to  be  angry  at  the 
trick  that  Moll  put  Dan  and  Kitty  up  to.  And,  at 
all  events,  Moll  had  been  so  cute  over  it,  that  she 
never  got  the  share  of  blame  that  was  hers  by 
right. 

Moll  began  again,  when  she  saw  how  quiet 
Mickey  took  what  she  said. 

"You're  lonesome  here,  Mr.  Heffeman,  but  I 
know  a  girl  that's  worse  off,  even!  and  faith!  I'm 
thinking  it's  what  it's  a  pity  to  be  spoiling  two 
houses  with  the  pair  of  yous!"  and  then  she 
stopped. 

Heffeman  still  said  nothing,  till  he  had  the  pipe 
filled  again,  and  drawing  well.  Then,  when  he  had 
it  going  to  his  liking,  he  appeared  to  take  heart, 
and  he  said:  "And  who  might  that  be?  not  that 
I'm  one  for  making  up  me  mind  in  a  hurry.  ..." 

"You're  right  there,  too!"  said  Moll;  "and 
above  all  to  be  cautious,  before  you  tie  a  knot 
with  your  tongue  that  you  can't  unloose  with  your  ^ 
teeth!  But  now  .  .  .  if  you  were  to  get  word  of  a 
nice,  decent  little  girl,  with  a  cow,  and  a  couple 
of  pigs  and  .  .  .  not  to  mention  the  calves  that 


212         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

.  .  .  and  as  purty  a  breed  of  geese  as  there  is  in 
Ireland.  ..." 

"Well,  and  who  are  you  talking  about?"  said 
Mickey,  his  mouth  watering,  you'd  think,  to  hear 
of  all  Marg's  stock. 

"Why,  who  but  Marg  Molally!" 

"I  have  no  acquaintance  with  the  girl,"  said 
Mickey. 

"Ay,  have  ye!"  said  Moll;  "isn't  it  her  was  at 
Dempsey's  that  night  .  .  .  and  brought  you  over 
thetay  .  .  .  and  aren't  you  after  hearing  all  about 
her  now  from  me,  too!" 

"Was  that  her  at  Dempsey's?"  said  Heffernan; 
"and  good  tay  it  was,  too!  She  can't  be  too 
young?" 

"No,"  said  Moll;  "but  what  does  a  sensible 
man,  like  yourself,  with  a  place  that's  worth  look- 
ing after,  want  with  one  of  them  whipsters  of  girls, 
that  would  be  for  ever  dressing  herself  up,  and  off 
to  every  wake  and  wedding  in  the  place.  Far 
more  comfort  there  will  be  with  one  that  would 
have  her  mind  on  her  business,  and  be  striving  to 
keep  a  man's  things  together  for  him!" 

"I'd  always  wish  to  have  the  place  someways 
decent!"  says  Mickey. 

"To  be  sure  you   would,   and  why  wouldn't 


A  Settled  Girl  213 

ye?  Whisht  now!  is  that  wheels  I  hear?"  said 
Moll. 

"Faith,  I  believe  so,"  said  Mickey;  "them 
that  hasn't  eyes  has  ears!" 

"That  will  be  Marg,  coming  back  from  the 
fair,"  said  Moll;  "and  now,  Mr.  Heffeman,  I 
may's  well  be  cuttin'  me  stick  and  paring  it  along 
the  road,  the  way  I  won't  be  keeping  the  poor  girl 
waiting  on  me,  below  there  at  the  cross-roads.  We 
have  it  laid  out  that  we'll  meet  there,  when  she's 
on  her  way  home;  and  I'll  go  back  with  her,  to 
be  company  to  her  this  night,  anyway,  God  help 
her!" 

"I  may's  well  go  that  far  with  you,"  says 
Mickey,  getting  down  stiffly  from  the  wall,  and 
reaching  for  the  stick  that  he  always  had  con- 
venient to  his  hand. 

"In  the  name  of  God,  then,  do  so!"  said  Moll. 

Heflernan  meant  by  that,  to  get  a  look  at  Marg ; 
and  so  he  did.  For  there  she  was,  waiting  as  Moll 
had  said.  She  was  standing  by  the  little  ass,  with 
her  hand  on  its  neck,  and  her  head  a  bit  bowed, 
and  the  look  in  her  face  would  put  you  in  mind  of 
the  picture  of  the  Virgin  Mary  in  the  chapel,  it 
was  so  sorrowful  and  patient.  She  was  tired  out, 
with  the  heat  of  the  day  and  the  noise  and  con- 


214         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

fusion  in  the  fair ;  and  she  had  on  the  big  blue  cloak 
that  came  to  her  from  the  mother.  It  was  the 
weight  of  two  cloaks,  it  was  so  good  and  heavy. 
And  she  had  a  blue  handkerchief  on  her  head,  tied 
under  her  chin,  and  a  grand  big  blue  apron,  over 
her  red  skirt,  that  was  made  of  wool  from  her  own 
sheep,  and  by  her  own  two  hands.  Those  colours 
were  in  the  picture,  too. 

She  and  Heffernan  passed  the  time  of  day  with 
one  another;  and  then  he  asked,  "Is  it  buying  or 
selling  you  were  to-day?" 

"Striving  to  sell,  I  was,"  said  Margaret;  "but 
could  get  no  price  worth  while;  and  besides  I 
hadn't  it  in  my  heart  to  part  those  two  little 
calves,  unless  I  got  a  real  good  offer  for  them! 
But  now  I'm  wishful  that  I  had  got  shut  of  them, 
at  any  money,  and  not  have  to  bring  them  home, 
and  the  poor  ass  gone  lame  on  me!" 

"Lame,  is  she?"  said  Mickey;  and  he  hobbled 
over,  to  have  a  look  at  what  was  wrong;  and  hard 
set  he  was  to  stoop  to  look  at  the  donkey's  feet,  he 
was  so  stiff. 

"  She  is  so,  lame,  and  very  lame ! "  said  Marg ; "  as 
lame  as  a  duck ;  I  doubt  will  she  ever  get  home 
to-night,  and  then  what  will  I  do,  at  all  at  all!" 

She  looked  ready  to  cry. 


A  Settled  Girl  215 

Heffeman  stood  and  thought ;  and  Moll  watched 
him  as  if  she  had  her  sight,  thinking  to  herself, 
"  If  only  you'd  let  me  manage  the  thing  for  ye!" 

But  Moll  knew  when  to  hold  her  tongue. 

At  last,  said  HefTernan,  "  If  it  woiild  be  any  con- 
vaniency  to  you  to  leave  ass  and  calves  at  my 
place,  there  a  piece  up  the  boreen,  until  the  lame- 
ness wears  off,  sure,  why  not,  and  welcome!" 

Margaret  said  nothing  for  a  minute,  but  while 
she  was  thinking  what  to  answer  that  would  be 
suitable,  Moll  struck  in  her  word,  "  Sure,  that's  the 
great  plan,  all  out,  of  yours,  Mr.  Heffernan!" 

"That  ass,"  Mickey  went  on,  "will  never  get 
the  cart  and  its  burden  home  to-night!" 

Marg  looked  the  ass  all  over,  and  even  led  her 
on  a  few  paces,  to  see  if  it  was  only  that  she  was 
pretending;  for  asses  have  their  tricks  betimes  like 
that.  But  it  was  worse  she  was  by  then,  scarcely 
able  to  keep  on  her  feet  at  all. 

So  Margaret  gave  in  to  what  Heffeman  said; 
and  they  all  turned  about,  and  went  up  to  the 
Furry  Farm.  A  fine,  comfortable  place  it  was,  too, 
as  far  as  sheds  and  hay  and  straw  went,  all  very- 
complete  and  plentiful. 

So  there  was  no  delay  in  finding  room  for  all 
Margaret's  belongings,  and  settling  them  in  great 


2i6         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

comfort.  And  then  Heffernan  said,  "  If  yous  would 
step  inside,  I'll  be  pleased  to  have  your  company 
totay." 

"Troth  and  we  will!  it's  meself  that's  very 
drouthy  wid  the  great  heat  of  the  day.  .  .  .  And 
that  God  may  reward  ye,  Mr.  Heffernan,  for  the 
kind  thought!"  said  Moll,  beginning  to  speak  very 
free,  and  then  ending  humbly,  when  she  thought  of 
herself.  But  any  one  like  Moll  that  has  to  look 
out  for  themselves  doesn't  like  to  lose  the  chance 
of  a  stray  meal.  It  was  different  with  Marg.  Still, 
she  did  not  wish  to  seem  imfriendly  with  the  man 
that  had  just  been  so  good-natured  to  her;  so  she 
and  Moll  went  into  the  kitchen,  Mickey  showing 
them  the  way. 

The  look  of  it !  Everything  was  in  a  muddle ;  the 
remains  of  the  dinner  on  the  table;  the  floor  not 
swept  over;  not  a  thing  washed  up,  you'd  think, 
for  a  month  of  Sundays;  hens  picking  about,  and 
the  dog  with  his  nose  into  the  pig's  pot. 

"Go  'long  out  o'  that!"  said  Mickey,  making  a 
whack  at  him  with  the  stick.  He  lost  his  balance 
and  down  he  fell,  with  his  head  into  the  fire,  only 
as  luck  would  have  it,  it  was  out. 

"  Och,  murther !    I'm  kilt ! "  he  cried. 

"The  Lord  save  us!"  said  Margaret;  and  she 


A  Settled  Girl  217 

ran  over,  to  pull  him  out  of  the  fire,  as  she  sup- 
posed. She  had  a  fine  strong  arm;  and  she  had 
him  raised  in  no  time. 

"Are  you  much  hiu-ted?"  she  asked,  in  great 
concern. 

"The  sorra  hurt,"  he  said;  "but  only  for 
you " 

He  was  trembling  all  over.  Any  one  on  in  years 
will  feel  a  fall  like  that  to  be  a  great  shock. 

"Sit  down  there,  a  minute  or  two,"  said  Mar- 
garet, and  she  pulled  over  a  big  chair,  and  put  him 
into  it.  It  chanced  to  be  the  very  chair  he  always 
sat  in. 

"Rest  yourself  now,  and  I'll  do  what's  re- 
quired. ..." 

That  was  always  the  way  with  Margaret.  If 
anything  had  to  be  done,  she  didn't  stop  to  ask, 
"Whose  business  is  it?"  and  neither  would  she 
interfere.  But  if  she  saw  no  one  else  making  a 
move,  then  she  did  the  thing  herself,  and  without 
making  any  talk  about  it. 

Besides  that,  she  felt  very  sorry  for  old  Mickey, 
seeing  him  so  helpless.  As  long  as  he  was  mov- 
ing about,  and  had  his  stick,  he  managed  right 
enough.  But  without  it,  and  lying  as  he  did  after 
the  fall,  he  was  as  helpless  as  an  infant. 


2i8         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"I  believe  the  fire  is  black  out,  this  minute!" 
said  Heffernan,  beginning  to  laugh,  and  half 
ashamed  of  the  fright  he  had  got,  when  he  fell, 
and  only  into  cold  ashes. 

"Sure  it  won't  long  be  so!"  said  Margaret; 
and  she  set  to  work  and  in  no  time  she  had  a 
blazing  hearth,  and  the  kettle  on  the  boil. 

"Do  I  hear  the  water  sizzling  out  into  the  fire 
already,"  said  Moll;  "that's  a  good  sign  of  you, 
Marg!" 

"How  so?"  said  Marg. 

"Sure,  doesn't  all  the  world  know  that  when  a 
girl  has  good  success  with  a  fire,  and  it  kindles  up 
quick  for  her,  that's  a  certain  sign  that  her  'boy' 
is  thinking  of  her!" 

Marg's  face  fell,  but  neither  Heffernan  nor  old 
Moll  perceived  the  change  in  her.  So  she  pulled 
herself  together,  and  got  the  supper  ready  for  the 
three  of  them,  as  if  she  had  been  used  to  the  house 
all  her  life.  And  when  they  were  done,  she  washed 
up  and  put  all  straight,  while  another  would  be 
thinking  about  it;  and  Heffernan  sat  in  his  big 
chair,  with  the  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  watched 
Marg  moving  about,  and  looked  very  contented. 

"That's  something  like,  now!"  was  all  he  said. 
But  he  was  remembering  his  sister  Julia,  and  how 


A  Settled  Girl  219 

smart  and  hard-working  she  had  been;  too  much 
so,  in  fact!  because  there  were  days  when  herself 
and  her  besom  would  be  too  much  for  Mickey, 
and  he  would  have  no  peace  anywhere  in  the  house. 
Still,  he  didn't  like  the  dirt  and  confusion,  now 
that  Julia  was  gone.  So  that's  why  he  enjoyed 
seeing  Marg  putting  the  things  in  order  again. 

When  she  had  it  all  finished,  it  was  beginning  to 
grow  dusk,  and  said  Heffeman,  "It's  a  long  step 
for  yous  to  be  getting  home,"  meaning  Molally's, 
"and  it's  middling  late,  and  there's  the  chance  of 
people  along  the  road  that  might  be  a  bit  rough 
and  noisy,  after  the  fair.  So  I'll  just  throw  the 
harness,  on  the  ould  mare,  and  drive  ye  back. " 

That  took  place;  but  the  only  word  he  said 
that  night  of  what  might  be  in  his  mind  was  when 
Moll  and  he  had  a  word  together,  in  a  whisper, 
after  he  had  driven  them  up  to  the  very  door 
of  Molally's  and  Marg  had  gone  to  the  back  of 
the  house,  for  the  key  that  she  had  hidden  there 
under  a  bunch  of  thistles. 

Said  Moll,  "She  becomes  a  side-car  well!" 

And  he  answered,  "It's  a  true  word  you're 
saying!"  By  that,  Moll  thought  things  were 
going  as  she  wished. 

No  man  ever  was  so  tender  of  a  lame  ass  as 


220         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

Mickey  was  of  Marg  Molally's,  keeping  her  there, 
and  feeding  her  on  the  best  of  hay  and  even  oats. 
And  when  Margaret  would  make  inquiries  about 
her,  he  never  would  agree  that  she  was  fit  to  travel, 
yet.  So  there  he  kept  her,  and  the  two  calves; 
because  they  had  to  wait,  till  the  ass  would  be  well 
enough  to  bring  them  back  to  Marg. 

This  is  how  things  were,  when  Margaret  got  at 
last  the  news  she  had  been  expecting  so  long; 
that  the  new  herd  was  hired,  and  that  she  would 
have  to  clear  out  as  soon  as  she  could.  She  knew, 
of  course,  that  it  had  to  be.  But  that  did  not 
hinder  her  from  feeling  very  fretted  and  lonesome, 
thinking  of  the  little  home  she  was  to  leave,  where 
she  had  lived  all  her  life,  and  had  worked  so  hard. 
So  she  had  no  great  heart  for  the  bride' s-party 
that  was  being  given  for  Kitty  and  Dan  Grennan 
at  Big  Cusack's,  just  about  then.  But  she  had 
promised  Kitty  that  she'd  go;  and  Margaret 
Molally  never  was  one  to  go  back  of  her  word. 

Who  was  there,  only  Mickey  Heffernan!  As  it 
turned  out,  the  party  was  meant  for  him,  too,  to 
try  and  bring  him  and  Marg  together.  Dark  Moll 
had  set  the  notion  going,  and  all  she  spoke  to 
agreed  it  would  only  be  right. 

Marg  was  as  innocent  as  the  child  unborn  of 


A  Settled  Girl  221 

what  was  going  on.  Her  mind  was  full  of  other 
things;  between  thinking  how  best  she  could  lend 
a  hand  that  evening,  and  wondering  what  was  be- 
fore herself,  and  she  without  a  home,  when  she'd 
be  only  a  few  days  older!  So  she  never  perceived 
what  Moll  and  Cusack  and  others  as  well  were  up 
to,  trying  to  help  out  Mickey's  courting  ...  if 
you  could  call  it  so ! 

"Did  j'ever  see  two  so  hard  to  get  into  hoults 
with  one  another?"  said  Dan  to  Kitty. 

"You  can't  get  Marg  to  see  what  he's  after!" 
said  she;  "she  has  no  more  intelligence  of  what 
Mickey  wants  ..." 

"Not  like  some  .  .  .   !"  said  Dan. 

"Have  behaviour,  now,"  said  Kitty,  pretending 
to  be  angry;  "but  of  all  the  simple  girls  .  .  .  !" 

Maybe  that  was  just  as  well.  For  if  Margaret 
had  ever  suspected  what  was  being  thought  about 
her  and  Heffernan,  would  she  have  done  what  she 
did?  Would  she  have  come  forward,  when  Mickey 
was  leaving,  to  help  him  on  with  his  big  frieze 
coat?  And  then,  when  no  one  else  made  a  move, 
would  she  go  out  of  the  house  after  him,  and  over 
to  where  his  car  was,  to  help  him  up  on  it?  Indeed, 
she  felt  puzzled  and  half  indignant  that  none  of  the 
others  offered  to  do  anything  for  the  crippled  old 


222         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

man.  But  they  were  holding  back,  out  of  good- 
nature; while  Margaret's  heart  was  swelling  with 
pity  for  him,  and  anger  at  their  indifference. 

"To  think  that  Dan  and  the  whole  of  them  are 
there !  and  they  well  knowing  .  .  .  but  ■  when 
people  is  engaged  with  sport  for  themselves,  they 
forget  very  easy!"  she  ended,  as  with  a  great  deal 
to  do,  she  got  Mickey  ready  for  the  road. 

"I'm  obliged  to  ye!"  said  Heffernan,  that  never 
used  two  words  where  one  would  do. 

"It's  little  enough,  after  all  you  done  for  me!" 
Margaret  made  answer. 

Then  he  dropped  his  stick  and  she  picked  it  up 
and  handed  it  to  him  on  the  car. 

"I'd  be  badly  off,  without  that!"  he  said. 

She  saw  that  he  had  the  rug  just  laid  loose  across 
his  knees,  and  she  tucked  it  well  about  him. 

"That's  the  good  thought!"  he  said;  "if  I 
get  anyways  chilled,  the  pain  does  be  bad  on 
me!" 

"The  nights  do  be  cold  enough,"  said  Marg. 

She  put  the  reins  into  his  hand,  and  still  he  did 
not  move,  only  sat  there,  looking  very  helplessly 
down  at  Marg,  as  she  stood  beside  him. 

"Them  calves  of  yours  is  doing  lovely,  with  me 
at  the  Fiu-ry  Farm!"  he  said  then. 


A  Settled  Girl  223 

"I'm  proud  to  hear  it,  and  very  thankful  to 
you,  Mr.  Heffeman!" 

"Ora,  what  about  it!  but  I'm  thinking,  this 
len'th  of  time,  that  ye  might  do  worse  than  to 
come  and  be  looking  after  them  yourself  ..." 
and  then  he  dropped  the  stick  again. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  be  troublesome  to  ye,  about  them, 
for  so  long, "  said  Marg,  picking  up  the  stick  again 
for  him,  "butif  only  I  ..." 

".  .  .  If  you'd  come,  for  good  and  all,"  said 
Mickey,  "to  mind  them  calves  .  .  .  and  .  .  . 
and  everything  else  about  the  place,  that's  going 
to  rack  and  ruin  ...  all  for  the  want  of  a  woman 
there.  ...  So  ...  I'm  middling  old  now,  but, 
sure,  I  can  wait  a  bit  .  .  .  maybe  you  couldn't 
bring  your  mind  to  take  me  at  all  .  .  .  only  if 
you'd  turn  it  over  in  your  mind  ..." 

Margaret  started  at  that,  as  if  a  shot  had  been 
fired  off,  close  to  her  ear.  She  turned  red.  At  last 
she  understood  what  he  was  driving  at.  Then  she 
grew  white,  and  dizzy.  . 

But  her  mind  flew  over  everything!  her  home 
gone,  and  she  left,  lonely  and  desolate,  without  a 
soul  she  cared  for,  to  be  looking  after  and  working 
for. 

She  looked  up  at  Heffernan  on  the  car,  and  the 


224         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

sight  of  him,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  as  if  his  Hfe 
depended  on  what  answer  she  would  make  .  .  . 
and  above  all  the  useless  foot  hanging  loose  as  he 
sat  balanced  there,  helpless,  just  as  she  had  settled 
him  .  .  .  these  things  melted  Margaret's  heart. 

"You'll  .  .  .  you'll  think  of  it,  maybe!"  said 
Mickey,  anxiously. 

"Think!"  said  Margaret;  "and  what  else  do  I 
be  doing,  only  think!"  and  she  laughed  even  as 
she  went  on: "  But  it's  an  ould  saying  I  often  heard, 
'Thinking's  poor  wit!'"  and  she  ended  with  an- 
other laugh,  that  had  a  sob  in  it,  too. 

"Then  you'll  agree?"  said  Heffernan. 

"At  your  request!"  said  Margaret. 

There  now  is  the  whole  account  of  how  Heffer- 
nan got  a  wife  at  long  last,  to  bring  into  the  Furry 
Farm.  Of  course  there  was  talk  about  it.  Some 
said  Mickey  was  just  caught  on  the  reboimd,  and 
took  Marg  after  losing  the  other  girls. 

"I  b'lieve  meself,"  said  Dan  to  Kitty,  "it's 
what  Mickey  couldn't  find  it  in  his  heart  to  see 
them  two  calves  leaving  the  Furry  Farm;  and 
neither  did  he  wish  to  have  to  pay  Marg  for  them ! 
Wasn't  it  cheaper  on  him  marry  her  and  have  them 
for  nothing?  let  alone  a  girl  like  her  to  take  care  of 
them  and  him  and  all  he  has!" 


A  Settled  Girl  225 

"That's  no  right  way  to  be  talking!"  said 
Kitty;  "won't  they  both  be  the  better  of  one 
another?  and  if  they  don't  live  happy,  that  you 
and  I  may!" 

IS 


' 


: 


CHAPTER  VII 

AN  AMERICAN  VISITOR 

The  talk  about  Heffernan  being  married  at  last 
had  all  died  away,  and  Marg  was  well  settled  in  at 
the  Furry  Farm,  busy  and  contented,  looking  after 
the  house  and  her  old  man  there,  when  another 
affair  arose  at  Ardenoo  that  was  the  cause  of  a 
great  deal  of  unpleasantness  and  worry. 

A  stranger  from  America  turned  up  there;  at 
least,  that's  what  he  said  he  was,  and  no  one  for 
long  enough  knew  anything  different.  But  it  was 
really  Patsy  Ratigan,  no  less,  that  had  left  Ardenoo 
years  upon  years  before,  and  in  too  great  a  hurry 
to  leave  any  message  to  say  why  or  where  he  was 
going.  Now  he  was  back,  and  feeling  none  too  sure 
what  kind  of  welcome  would  be  waiting  for  him. 
So  he  thought,  when  he  got  there,  the  day  after  he 
landed  from  America,  that  he'd  keep  himself  quiet, 
till  he  saw  how  the  thing  would  go  on. 

The  place  looked  to  Patsy  wider  and  more  si- 
lent than  ever ;  the  people  fewer,  and  any  he  met, 

226 


An  American  Visitor  227 

either  they  didn't  know  him,  or  he  couldn't  put  a 
name  upon  them.  That  was  just  what  he  wanted, 
really;  and  still,  he  thought  it  very  strange  that 
everything  was  so  changed  from  his  recollection  of 
it!  He  forgot  that  the  world  and  all  it  contains 
must  always  be  moving.  If  you  come  back  to  a 
place  you  left,  even  a  very  short  time  before,  you'll 
always  find  something  not  the  same  as  it  was.  If 
it's  only  a  kettle  that  you  leave  swinging  over  the 
fire,  while  you  run  out  for  a  few  sprigs  to  hurry  it  to 
boil,  it  won't  be  the  same  when  you  come  in  again. 
The  water  will  be  hotter  or  colder;  the  fire  will  be 
stronger  or  maybe  gone  black  out. 

Patsy  should  have  bethought  himself  of  the 
length  of  time  he  had  been  away,  and  then  he 
wouldn't  have  been  so  put  out,  to  find  things 
different.  And,  indeed,  whatever  change  he  saw 
in  Ardenoo,  there  was  more  upon  himself!  Hard- 
set  any  of  the  neighbours  would  have  been,  even 
the  comrade-boys  that  knew  him  best  in  the  old 
wild  days,  to  make  out  the  thin  rake  of  a  fellow, 
ragged  and  light,  that  he  used  to  be,  in  this  big, 
stout,  heavy-looking  man.  And  he  dressed, 
moreover,  in  black  glossy  clothes  and  a  slouch 
hat;  and  with  a  gold  watch-chain  and  ring  upon 
him. 


228         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

Grand  indeed  Patsy  looked!  And  still,  as  well- 
appearing  as  he  was,  sitting  resting  himself  by  the 
side  of  the  road,  he  was  very  uneasy  in  his  mind. 
For  he  was  thinking  that  he  was  on  the  last  of  his 
cigars,  and  wondering  in  his  own  mind  how  he  was 
going  to  knock  out  another  smoke,  let  alone  any 
other  little  necessary  comfort  he  might  want. 
Very  downhearted  he  was,  and  was  feeling  as 
lonesome  as  a  milestone  without  a  number  upon  it, 
when  somebody  else  came  in  sight,  walking  along 
very  brisk,  although  with  a  stick. 

"I  should  know  that  person,  anyway!"  said 
Ratigan  to  himself;  "she  seems  familiar.  .  .  . 
Why,  if  it  isn't  Dark  Moll  Reilly!  And  she  with 
the  oiild  shawl  .  .  .  and  the  fiddle  under  it,  on 
her  back  .  .  .  and  all  the  ould  bags  hanging  round 
her,  to  gather  whatever  she's  given.  .  .  .  She's  apt 
to  have  all  the  news  of  the  place  ...  if  there  is 
any  to  know !  If  I  can  get  chatting  with  her  .  .  . 
and  she'll  not  see  who  I  am.  ..." 

So  when  she  got  near  where  he  was,  he  called  out 
to  her : 

"Hi!  you  there!  my  good  woman!  where  are 
you  off  to?" 

At  the  words,  Moll  stopped  short,  and  began 
poking  with  the  stick,  as  if  to  feel  her  way.    It  was 


An  American  Visitor  229 

as  if  hearing  the  voice  had  put  a  "blind"  upon 
poor  Moll ;  like  the  bit  of  board,  or  old  cloth,  you'll 
see  sometimes  fastened  across  the  face  of  a  beast 
that  is  a  rogue,  to  keep  it  from  straying  out  of  its 
own  pasture. 

" I  ask  yer  pardon,  sir, "  she  said,  "but  sure,  I'm 
dark,  you  perceive !  and  couldn't  tell,  no  more  nor 
the  dead,  where  y'are  or  who  y'are!" 

With  that,  she  dropped  a  ctutsey,  with  her  back 
to  Ratigan,  by  the  way  of  that  she  was  so  con- 
fused. 

"Here!"  said  Ratigan,  getting  up,  and  catching 
her  by  the  hand,  "come  over  here,  and  sit  down, 
and  we  can  have  a  bit  of  discourse.  .  .  .  Just 
come  here  I  am,  from  America,  only  landed 
yesterday.  ..." 

"From  America!  do  ye  tell  me  that,  sir!"  said 
Moll;  "and  are  well  acquainted  with  these  parts, 
are  you,  sir?" 

"Never  set  foot  here,  till  now!"  said  Ratigan; 
"  I  just  took  me  grip  in  me  hand,  and  started  off  on 
this  trip.  And  some  friends  of  mine  across  the 
herring-pond  were  most  anxious  I  shoiild  visit 
Ardenoo,  and  look  up  some  old  connections  of 
theirs,  and  bring  them  all  the  news.  .  .  .  It's 
when  you're  away  awhile  from  a  place  that  you'll 


230         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

be  feeling  queer  and  lonesome  for  them  you  left 
behind  there!" 

Ratigan  was  always  ready  for  any  kind  of  play- 
acting, and  he  could  tell  lies  as  easy  as  a  dog  can 
trot.  He  had  made  up  this  story,  while  Moll  was 
groaning  and  letting  herself  down  upon  the  bank 
beside  him,  very  cautiously. 

"Blind,  are  you?  that's  a  hard  case!"  he  went 
on;  "but  I  dare  say  you'll  be  able  to  give  me  the 
information  I  require.  I  have  all  the  names  I  was 
to  ask  after,  wrote  down  here  in  my  pocket-book, " 
he  said,  pretending  to  take  one  out  of  his  breast, 
but  all  he  had  there  was  an  old  purse  and  it  empty. 
"D  .  .  .  D  .  .  .  Dempsey  .  .  .  ay,  that's  the 
name  of  one  .  .  .  queer  names,  the  most  of  them 
are!    Now,  what  about  them?" 

"Och,  the  Dimpseys!"  said  Moll;  "why,  the 
sorra  one  of  that  family  is  left  in  the  old  place !  by 
that  name,  at  least.  The  last  of  them,  little  Kitty, 
took  and  married  a  boy  .  .  .  Dan  Grennan  it  is 
.  .  .  and  he  after  coming  home  from  America. 
.  .  .  You  never  chanced  to  meet  up  wid  a  boy  of 
the  name,  out  there,  sir?" 

"Never  heard  it,  till  this  minute!"  he  said. 

"Well,  Grennan  came  home,  and  just  was  in 
time  to  get  Kitty,  that  was  very  near  marrit  upon 


An  American  Visitor  231 

old  Heffernan  of  the  Furry  Farm.  .  .  .  And  in 
luck  Dan  was,  too,  to  get  his  head  in  there  at 
Dempsey's  .  ,  .  and  a  nice  little  girl  for  a  wife  he 
got,  when  he  did  cut  his  good  days  short,  marrying 
at  all!" 

"Married  young,  did  he?"  said  Ratigan. 

"Ay,  did  he;  and  a  very  decent,  quiet  man  he 
is,  and  always  was;  so  that  Kitty  didn't  get  the 
worst  of  it !  They're  not  to  say  too  out-of-the-way 
rich ;  for  whatever  little  money  Dan  brought  home 
with  him  out  of  America  didn't  stand  them  long. 
But  God  was  good  to  Kitty ;  is  sending  her  the  full 
up  of  the  house  of  childher;  and  nineteen  turkeys 
she  has,  this  year,  let  alone  two  pigs,  and  has  the 
grass  of  her  cow,  for  doing  the  herding  for  ould 
Heffernan.  ..." 

"Heffernan  of  the  Furry  Farm?"  said  Ratigan; 
"that's  another  I  was  to  ask  about.  .  .  .  But 
from  the  description  I  was  given  of  him,  he  should 
be  a  great  age  by  now!  Or  is  he  to  the  good  at 
all?" 

"Getting  young  again  he  is,"  said  Moll,  "ever 
since  he  has  Marg  there  to  be  minding  him  and  the 
place.  ..." 

"Marg!  what  Marg  is  that?"  said  Ratigan,  a 
bit  impatient. 


232         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"Why,  who  but  ould  Molally's  dauther!"  said 
Moll;  "she  was  none  too  young,  but  even  so, 
Mickey  might  be  her  father.  But  what  won't  a 
girl  do,  to  get  where  there's  money!  And  he  wid 
a  head  upon  him  as  grey  as  a  badger!" 

Now  the  reason  Moll  spoke  like  that  was,  she 
had  a  spleen  in  for  Marg,  because  she  thought  it 
was  she  herself  had  made  up  that  fine  match  for 
Marg,  with  old  Heffeman,  and  that  in  consequence 
she  ought  to  be  as  free  to  go  in  and  out  at  the 
Furry  Farm  as  she  used  to  be  at  Molally's,  before 
Marg  had  quitted  it,  to  become  Mrs.  Heffeman. 
But  Mickey  didn't  like  those  ways,  of  having  such 
as  Moll  too  frequent  visitors  in  his  house;  and 
Marg  never  went  against  him. 

"As  grey  as  a  badger,  is  he?"  says  Ratigan; 
"well,  sure,  there's  some  says,  the  bracketty^ 
bird  is  the  purtiest  of  the  clutch!" 

"Grey;  and  as  lame  as  a  crutch,  to  the  back  of 
that!"  says  Moll;  "a  cant  off  the  side-car  that 
caused  it.  But  Mickey  was  always  weak  about  the 
legs;  bom  on  a  fair-day,  as  the  saying  is,  with  the 
two  knees  of  him  boxing  for  sugar- sticks ! " 

"  Lame  of  a  leg,  and  grey  in  the  head ! "  said  Rati- 
gan; "that's  a  fancy  man  for  a  girl  to  go  take!" 

'  Speckled. 


An  American  Visitor  233 

"Marg  was  none  too  young  herself,  though 
fresh  and  active  still,"  said  Moll;  "and  when  all 
fniit  fails,  welcome  haws!  She  wanted  some  one. 
But  if  you  have  any  wish  for  more  information 
than  a  poor  ould  blind  body  can  give  you,  sir, 
can't  you  go  give  them  a  call  at  the  Furry  Farm? 
They  do  be  mostly  always  within. " 

"Well,  maybe  I  would  do  that,"  said  Ratigan; 
though  not  a  notion  he  had  of  doing  any  such 
thing. 

So  Moll  gave  him  all  the  directions  for  finding 
his  way,  which  Ratigan  knew  as  well  as  she  did; 
and  then  she  went  off  on  her  own  business,  leaving 
him  sitting  still  by  the  roadside. 

" Divil  may  care  what  way  you  go,  for  /  don't!" 
said  Moll  to  herself,  when  she  got  a  piece  off  from 
Ratigan;  "to  say  he  was  too  mean  even  to  offer 
me  the  price  of  a  pint,  and  I  as  dry  as  a  limekiln, 
telling  him  all  the  news!  ,  .  .  Who  is  he  now,  at 
all?  For  I  can't  believe  that  he's  a  stranger  in 
these  parts.  He  was  too  ready  with  his  talk  .  .  . 
and  too  anxious  for  news.  ..." 

She  went  on  again,  another  little  bit,  thinking 
hard.  Then,  "I  have  it  now!"  she  thought, 
laughing  to  herself;  "it's  that  bright  boyo.  Patsy 
Ratigan,  as  sure  as  God  made  little  apples!    And 


234         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

the  great  big  size  of  him  now!  The  broad  red  face 
of  him!  and  he  the  full  of  his  skin;  instead  of  the 
way  he  was,  so  thin  that  there  wasn't  as  much  fat 
upon  him  as  would  grease  a  gimlet!  And  the 
thick  back  to  his  head!  and  used  to  have  a  long 
neck  upon  him,  like  a  distracted  gander  peeping 
down  a  pump-hole  to  look  for  poreens!"' 

Moll,  as  I  said,  had  better  use  of  her  eyes  than 
the  people  thought.  Still,  she  never  would  have 
known  Ratigan  again,  only  that  her  ears  were  so 
sharp.    It  was  his  voice  she  knew. 

"And  why  did  he  tell  that  story?  It's  terrible 
to  be  a  liar!"  thought  Moll;  "but  sure,  he  must 
have  some  good  reason.  .  .  .  Let  you  say  nothing, 
Moll  Reilly,"  she  went  on  to  herself,  "until  you 
see  how  the  cat  jumps.  ..." 

Now  it  was  true  enough,  what  Moll  had  said  to 
Ratigan  about  the  Heff emans  not  often  going  from 
about  their  own  place.  Mickey  wasn't  able  for 
much  travelling,  on  account  of  the  bad  leg;  and 
Marg  didn't  feel  it  right  to  leave  him.  Besides, 
she  had  always  been  one  to  keep  herself  to  herself. 

The  place  she  went  most  to  was  Grennan's.  And 
so  it  happened  some  time  after  Ratigan  coming 
back,  though  no  word  of  that  had  reached  the 

'  Small  potatoes. 


An  American  Visitor  235 

Furry  Farm,  that  Marg  said  one  evening  to 
Mickey,  "I  have  an  occasion  for  going  over  to 
Grennan's  .  .  .  some  eggs  that  Kitty  is  gathering 
for  me  .  .  .  and  now,  I  have  the  churning  done, 
and  the  butter  made  and  all  cleared  away.  So 
I'll  bring  a  sup  of  the  fresh  buttermilk  with  me, 
for  it's  always  welcome  in  a  house  like  theirs;  and 
it  the  Hallow  Eve  and  all.  .  .  . " 

Dan  Grennan  had  got  in  on  Dempsey's  farm 
when  he  married  Kitty.  But  it  was  a  small  hold- 
ing, and  not  worth  much,  by  the  time  all  the  older 
girls  had  been  fortuned  off  it.  And  though  Dan 
had  brought  some  money  home  with  him  out  of 
America,  it  didn't  stand  long,  between  rent  that 
was  owing,  and  then  old  Mrs.  Dempsey  having  to 
be  biu-ied,  when  her  time  came ;  and  of  course  Dan 
wanted  to  do  the  decent  thing  by  Kitty's  mother. 
So  when  all  that  was  attended  to,  there  wasn't 
much  coming  in,  and  Dan  was  glad  enough  to 
undertake  the  herding  of  the  Furry  Farm  for 
Heffernan.  It  lay  convenient  to  their  own  little 
place,  too. 

Marg  had  another  reason  for  wanting  to  go  to 
Grennan's  that  same  evening,  but  she  didn't  want 
Mickey  to  know  anything  about  it  just  then. 

"Well,  go,  in  the  name  of  God!"  said  Heffernan, 


236         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

to  her  standing  ready  to  start;  "and  as  you  are 
going,  you  might  as  well  throw  an  eye  over  that 
young  stock  that  I  have  there  beyant.  Dan  is 
good,  and  very  good;  but  it's  the  master's  eye  that 
puts  meat  upon  his  beasts,  and  I'm  not  able  this 
len'th  of  time  to  be  going  across  fields  and  rough 
ways.  ..." 

"Whatever  you  say  yourself,  I'll  do,"  said  his 
wife. 

Marg  never  had  any  wish  for  going  outside  of 
her  own  work  or  interfering  with  what  belongs  to 
men.  But  she  would  not  disagree  with  any  word 
Mickey  said.  To  give  him  his  due,  neither  did  he 
interfere  with  her.  He  was  only  too  contented  and 
happy  to  have  her  there,  kind  and  good  and 
peaceable;  instead  of  Julia  that  had  been  such  a 
heart-scald  to  him  for  so  long,  that  he  didn't  know 
himself  to  be  the  same,  since  he  got  shut  of  her, 
and  had  Marg  to  look  to  for  everything. 

She  saw  him  settled  comfortably  by  the  fire, 
with  his  pipe  for  company,  before  she  set  off,  with 
her  can  swinging  by  her  side;  and,  moreover,  a 
brave  big  lump  of  butter  fresh  off  the  chtun,  swim- 
ming in  the  milk.  She  was  bringing  that  a  present 
to  Kitty,  for  Marg  was  very  nice  and  free-handed 
in  her  ways.    But  there  was  no  use  in  speaking  of 


An  American  Visitor  237 

the  butter  to  Mickey.  That  might  only  bring  on 
an  argument.  And  a  woman  has  a  good  right  to 
her  churn  and  all  that  comes  out  of  it.  If  she 
chooses  to  give  any  of  it  away,  why  not?  And  if 
Mickey  knew  nothing  about  it,  he  couldn't  object 
to  it.  Supposing  he  had  any  claim  to  the  butter, 
wouldn't  he  be  all  the  better  of  its  being  given  in 
charity  and  kindness,  and  he  getting  so  far  on  in 
life?  And  they  would  never  miss  it,  no,  nor  twice 
as  much. 

Marg  was  coimted  a  very  lucky  hand  over  a 
dairy,  and  always  had  good  yield  from  the  milk. 
Near  though  she  was  to  the  Furry  Hills,  that  were 
well  known  to  be  full  up  of  fairies,  she  never  got 
any  annoyance  from  them,  such  as  the  Good 
People  to  "milk  the  tether"  on  her,  or  to  take 
away  the  value  of  the  milk  from  her.  But  of 
course,  that  mightn't  be  luck,  so  much  as  that 
Marg  knew  what  she  was  about.  She  was  very 
particular  not  to  give  away  anything  to  a  stranger 
that  might  come  borrowing  from  her  on  May  Day ; 
a  mistake  that  has  cost  many  a  woman  the  loss  of 
a  fine  cow.  And  she  never  forgot  to  throw  a  grain 
of  salt  into  the  churn,  before  she  began  to  stir  the 
dash.  And  as  soon  as  ever  she  had  the  butter 
taken  off  the  churn,  she  took  care  to  stick  the  first 


238         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

bit  against  the  wall,  for  the  fairies.  People  can't 
be  too  careful  in  such  things,  especially  if  they  live 
anyway  near  such  a  place  as  the  Furry  Hills. 

It  was  from  those  hills  that  Heffernan's  place 
had  got  its  name  of  the  Furry  Farm.  The  hills 
rose  up,  across  his  land,  steep  and  sharp,  like  the 
fin  of  a  fish.  High  they  were,  and  grown  over  with 
furze  and  ferns  and  brambles  and  old  thorn  bushes, 
that  of  course  no  one  would  ask  to  disturb.  But 
anyway,  you  could  never  run  a  plough  up  such 
hills  as  they  were,  so  there  was  no  occasion  to 
interfere  with  anything  that  grew  on  them. 

In  one  part  of  the  Furry  Hills  there  was  a  gap, 
like  a  cleft,  and  the  old  people  said  it  had  been 
made  there  by  a  fairy  sword.  A  narrow  road,  no 
more  than  a  boreen,  ran  through  that  cleft;  and 
hardly  any  one  used  it,  though  it  was  handy  enough 
for  many  purposes.  But  there  was  great  talk  of 
fairies  being  thereabouts,  and  that  fairy  music 
could  be  heard  there,  and  so  on.  It  might  be,  too, 
that  the  old  boreen  was  deserted  because  there  was 
another  road  made,  better  and  even  handier  for 
cattle  that  would  be  going  to  fairs  at  Ardenoo  or 
Balloch.  But  even  before  that  new  road  was  there, 
the  people  would  never  go  through  the  cleft  by 
themselves  or  late  at  night;  and  it  was  used  as 


An  American  Visitor  239 

seldom  as  possible.  Except  for  this:  not  very  far 
distant  there  lay  a  holy  well,  that  people  would  go 
to  at  certain  times.  But  Marg  could  get  across  the 
hills  to  Grennan's  without  passing  near  the  cleft 
at  all. 

She  was  supple  and  strong  still,  because  she  gave 
herself  no  time  to  get  stiff  in  the  limbs,  only  always 
kept  going  about  something  or  other.  So  now  it 
was  no  trouble  to  her  to  cross  the  hills,  and  strike 
off  through  the  fields  to  Grennan's. 

The  instant  minute  after  she  saw  Kitty  and  they 
had  passed  the  time  of  day  with  one  another,  "Any 
news  yet?"  asked  Marg. 

"The  sorra  news!"  said  Kitty;  "me  heart's 
broke,  so  it  is,  fretting,  and  Dan  the  same.  And 
he  tells  me,  he  heard  below  there  at  Melia's,  that 
there's  more  cattle  gone,  the  same  way,  as  if  the 
earth  had  opened  and  swallowed  them.  No  ac- 
count of  them  to  be  got,  high,  low,  or  holy!  And 
not  a  night,  since  Dan  missed  that  bullock  out  of 
the  Big  Field  here,  but  there's  a  rosary  said  in  this 
house  at  bedtime,  for  it  to  be  got  back.  The  Lord 
forgive  them  that  gets  on  with  such  work!" 

"Did  you  ask  St.  Anthony?"  said  Marg;  "he's 
great,  for  things  that  are  lost.  I  remember  to  hear 
tell  of  an  old  woman  that  lost  her  rosary  once,  and 


i24o         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

she  having  a  great  regard  for  it.  So  she  used  to  ask 
St.  Anthony;  and  it  was  a  twelvemonth  after,  she 
went  to  turn  up  the  mattress  of  her  bed ;  and  there 
was  the  rosary!" 

"Look  at  that,  now!"  said  Kitty;  "well,  sure, 
we  might  try  him!" 

"You  could  do  no  more,  then,"  said  Marg; 
"but  .  .  .  there's  the  fair-day  of  Balloch  coming 
round  .  .  .  and  himself  might  take  the  notion  of 
selling  there  some  of  the  cattle;  and  then  he'll 
have  to  be  told  about  the  bullock  being  lost!" 

"I  suppose  that  will  have  to  be!"  said  Kitty, 
and  she  ready  to  cry;  "it  can't  be  kept  from  him 
for  ever!  It  was  God  that  done  it,  that  his  leg 
got  too  bad  for  him  to  be  able  to  go  round  the 
place,  to  see  the  stock  and  count  them  himself, 
this  while  back!" 

Kitty  meant  no  harm  to  Mickey  by  that  saying; 
and  Marg  didn't  think  it  of  her. 

"What  way  is  he  now?"  Kitty  went  on;  "it's 
a  long  time  since  he  took  the  light  from  this 
door." 

"He's  well  enough, "  said  Marg,  "barrin'  for  the 
leg,  that  has  been  giving  him  great  punishment  this 
good  while.  Only  for  that,  and  that  I  didn't  wish 
to  be  putting  any  other  annoyance  upon  him,  I 


An  American  Visitor  241 

would  have  told  him  about  the  bullock  being  lost 
before  now." 

"Wait  another  little  weeny  while!"  said  Kitty, 
coaxingly;  "what  would  we  do  at  all,  if  he  fell  out 
with  Dan?" 

"Sure  don't  I  know  that  well!  and  have  no 
wish  in  life  to  be  making  trouble,"  said  Marg, 
"carrying  stories  and  telling  tales  .  .  .  only 
.  .  .  you  see,  he  depends  on  me  to  bring  him  the 
report.  ..." 

She  sat  down  then  and  began  watching  the 
children,  while  Kitty  hung  down  the  kettle  to  wet 
a  grain  of  tea. 

"Ora,  Kitty,"  said  Marg,  jumping  up,  "mind 
the  child !  the  baby  will  be  killed,  if  you  don't  take 
heed!   Little  Mag  isn't  able  to  be  lifting  him.  .  .  ." 

The  little  girl  at  Grennan's  was  called  after 
Marg  herself,  and  Kitty  used  to  let  her  have  the 
baby  on  the  floor  to  nurse  him. 

"Och,  never  fear  for  them!"  said  Kitty;  "here! 
I'll  put  the  two  of  them  outside  the  door  with  a 
pinch  of  sugar  .  .  .  there  now,  Maggie;  be  good 
and  don't  be  annoying  me  and  I  busy  with  Mrs. 
Heffeman;  and  take  care  of  the  baby.  ..." 

Kitty  never  was  one  to  have  much  talk  about 
her  babies,  and  in  particular  when  Marg  that  had 
16 


242         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

none  was  by.  But  Kitty  was  right,  to  let  them 
mind  themselves,  and  leam  to  do  that,  by  being 
left  alone.  If  you're  always  watching  a  child,  and 
warning  it  about  falling  and  so  on,  it  will  never 
leam  to  be  handy  with  the  little  feet  or  anyway 
independent. 

Kitty  settled  the  children  outside,  then,  and  that 
left  the  kitchen  quiet,  so  that  she  could  give  Marg 
the  cup  of  tea  in  peace  and  quiet,  and  have  a  chat. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Kitty,  while  she  was  cooling 
a  sup  of  her  tea  in  the  saucer,  "I  suppose  you 
heard  tell  of  the  American  that's  beyant  in 
Clough-na-Rinka?  " 

"How  would  I  hear,"  said  Marg;  "that  never 
goes  anywhere,  except  to  the  chapel,  from  one 
year's  end  to  the  other!" 

"I  wonder  at  that!"  said  Kitty,  "but  there  he 
is,  this  len'th  of  time,  stopping  with  the  Widdah 
Grogan ;  and  has  her  heart-scalded,  by  what  I  hear, 
with  his  grand,  particular  ways!  Wanting  beef- 
steaks and  pie  for  his  dinner,  no  less!  as  if  he  was 
a  lord.  And  as  for  the  talk  he  does  have  out  of 
him  .  .  .   I" 

"Americans  does  mostly  always  be  that  way," 
says  Marg;  "quare  notions  they  have,  there 
beyant.  ..." 


An  American  Visitor  243 

"And  for  all  that,"  said  Kitty,  "in  ways,  you'd 
think  him  real  innocent;  don't  ask  the  use  of  a 
bedroom  at  all,  so  he's  no  trouble  that  way  .  .  . 
go  away  now,  Mags!  and  don't  be  annoying 
me.  .  .  . 

Marg  watched,  while  Kitty  hunted  the  little  girl 
again  out  of  the  kitchen,  to  where  she  had  the  baby 
laid  in  a  turf -basket;  and  Marg  wondered  to  her- 
self, how  Kitty  could  bear  to  have  them  out  of  her 
sight.  But  she  said  nothing  about  that,  only, 
"Has  no  bed!  that's  a  quare  way  to  be  going  on!" 

"It  appears,"  Kitty  explained,  "that  this  is  a 
man  that  got  out  of  his  health  there  in  America, 
and  was  ordered  a  voyage  across  the  salt  water; 
and  he  knew  people  out  there,  that  spoke  to  him 
of  this  place,  and  how  quiet  and  healthy  you  could 
be  here.  And  above  all  things,  he  says,  he  was 
warned  never  to  sleep  under  a  roof,  if  he  could 
avoid  doing  so.  Well,  you  know  that  little  canoe 
of  a  place  Mrs.  Melia  has,  squeezed  on  at  the  back 
of  her  house?  she  keeps  a  bit  of  hay  in  it  for  the 
pony,  and  it's  there  the  American  asked  to  be  let 
lie  down  at  night ;  says  he  has  to  have  the  fresh  air. 
He  has  a  bad  foot,  too,  the  crature !  the  size  of  a  pot 
it  is  with  all  the  old  rags  and  bandages  he  keeps  on 
it.    Oh,  very  lame  he  is,  with  it,  and  says  he  always 


244  The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

was,  from  a  child,  and  had  a  fortune  spent  on  it, 
but  can  find  no  cure.  So  there's  the  way  it  is  with 
him ;  he  appears  to  have  all  the  money  any  one 
could  require.  Stands  treat,  regular,  to  the  boys 
that  gather  in  to  hear  his  stories,  at  Melia's,  and 
tells  the  shop-boy  to  score  all  up  to  him.  I'd  as 
soon  he'd  let  that  part  of  it  alone!"  said  Kitty; 
"  Dan  was  a  bit  too  late  coming  home,  a  few  nights 
ago,  and  then  ..." 

Kitty  sighed. 

"It's  a  seldom  thing  for  that  to  occur  with 
Dan!"  said  Margaret. 

"Oh,  ay!  there's  not  much  to  fault  in  Dan!" 
said  his  wife;  "only  a  body  gets  a  bit  anxious,  for 
fraid  he  might  get  the  fashion  of  being  late  .  .  . 
maybe  begin  stravaguing  the  roads.  ..." 

"Well,  if  the  American  is  the  way  you  say,  with 
the  bad  foot,  they'll  not  go  far,  if  they  want  his 
company!" 

"Ay!  that's  only  God's  truth!  and  now  speak- 
ing of  a  lame  leg  and  the  like,  what  remedy  are  you 
trying  for  Mickey?" 

"Nothing;  for  there  seems  no  good  in  anything 
I  can  apply  to  give  him  ease!"  said  Marg. 

"Did  you  think  of  getting  the  water  from  the 
Holy  Well?"  said  Kitty. 


An  American  Visitor  245 

"I  thought  of  that,  over  and  over,"  said  Marg; 
"but  I  never  got  to  try  it  for  him  yet.  Only  this 
evening,  and  I  coming  along  here,  I  was  intended 
to  bring  home  a  sup  of  the  blessed  water  in  the 
buttermilk  can.  And  so  I  will,  too,  for  I  can  get  it 
easily,  on  the  way  back.  So  as  soon  as  you  can 
have  the  can  readied  out,  I'll  be  shortening  the  way 
home, "  says  Marg. 

"I'll  not  ask  to  delay  you,  so,"  said  Kitty,  "and 
it  Hallow  Eve  and  all ;  and  the  daylight  beginning 
to  fade.     And  cold  it's  turning,  too!" 

"I'll  not  heed  that!"  said  Marg;  and  away  she 
went. 

There  was  a  touch  of  frost  in  the  air;  the  grass 
felt  crisp  underfoot.  Dusk  was  gathering  about 
the  fields  and  the  shadows  began  to  lie  very  thick 
and  dark  under  the  trees  and  hedges.  Margaret 
even  shivered  a  little,  as  she  hurried  on.  But  that 
might  be  because  all  these  lonesome  signs  of  the 
night  seemed  worse,  after  leaving  Kitty's  kitchen, 
gay  and  full  up  of  the  little  chatter  and  laughing  of 
the  children,  the  baby  in  Kitty's  arm,  and  little 
Maggie  standing  beside  her  mother,  to  watch  Mrs. 
Heffeman  disappearing  into  the  twilight.  Marg 
loved  to  go  to  Grennan  's,  and  see  the  children,  and 
maybe  now  and  then  coax  one  of  them  to  sit  on  her 


246         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

knee  and  let  her  play  with  it.  All  the  same,  she 
was  sighing  now,  to  think  how  silent  and  sober  her 
own  house  was,  compared  to  Grennan's. 

She  was  thinking,  going  along,  of  the  sound  of 
the  little  voices  there;  "like  music!"  she  said  to 
herself.  And  with  that  word,  she  started.  For, 
whether  it  was  some  echo  carried  on  the  wind  from 
Grennan's,  or  whatever  it  might  have  been,  that 
very  moment  she  thought  she  heard  some  sound  of 
music  coming  out  of  the  darkness  to  her  as  she  was 
passing  through  the  Big  Pasture  Field. 

"What  can  it  be?  Sure,  I  often  heard  tell  of 
fairy  music,  and  how  that  some  can  hear  noises, 
like  piannas  and  bugles,  if  they  put  their  ear  to 
the  ground,  close  by  a  rath.  But  that  can  only  be 
foolishness!  I'll  not  let  the  like  of  that  talk  stop 
me  now,  from  going  to  the  Holy  Well,  if  there's  a 
cure,  or  even  some  small  relief  to  be  got  there,  for 
that  poor  leg  of  Mickey's!" 

So  on  she  went,  by  the  Furry  Hills,  until  she  got 
to  the  Holy  Well,  close  under  the  Cleft  of  the 
Fairy  Sword. 

"It's  well  the  moon  is  up,"  thought  Marg, 
"the  way  I'll  have  no  delay  in  filling  the  can!" 

The  Holy  Well  lay  in  a  comer,  where  the  Big 
Pasture  Field  sloped  down  to  a  hollow.     Many's 


An  American  Visitor  247 

the  time  Marg  had  seen  it,  of  a  Saint's  Day,  with 
the  lone  thorn  that  leans  out  over  the  water  all 
dressed  up  with  bits  of  ribbon,  and  even  rags,  that 
the  people  would  tie  there,  when  there  would  be  a 
Pattern  at  the  Holy  Well.  And,  besides,  the  girls 
had  a  great  fashion  of  going  there  on  Hallow  Eve, 
to  try  old  charms  and  " pistrogues, "  "so  that  they 
might  get  to  see  whatever  boy  they  were  to 
marry. " 

Well,  this  time,  when  Marg  came  in  sight  of  the 
Well,  wasn't  it  all  hid  from  her!  ay  and  even  the 
hollow  where  it  lay  was  covered  over  with  white 
columns  of  mist,  that  rose,  and  wavered,  moving 
this  way  and  that  way  as  the  night  wind  blew.  It 
was  steam  from  the  Well,  for  the  water  there  is 
warm.  Not  hot  enough  to  make  tea  and  boil 
eggs,  as  Mickey  used  to  tell  the  people,  but  just 
nicely  warm.  And  always  in  frost  or  cold,  you 
could  see  the  steam  rising  from  it. 

But  as  long  as  Marg  had  been  at  the  Furry 
Farm,  she  had  never  chanced  to  see  it  like  that. 
The  Well  lay  a  piece  off  from  where  she  had  busi- 
ness. And  Marg  never  had  been  one  to  go  stra- 
vaguing  the  fields  for  pleasure;  and  she  wasn't 
going  to  begin  that  fashion  now,  and  she  married. 

Marg  began  to  go  slower,  and  to  feel  a  bit  fearful 


248         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

in  herself.  It  was  Hallow  Eve,  when,  as  every- 
body knows,  the  dead  can  come  back  to  visit 
those  they  love.  And  here  was  she,  all  alone 
among  the  wide,  silent  fields,  close  to  the  Holy 
Well,  with  the  moonlight  white  upon  everything. 
And  not  a  sound,  only  the  whisper,  whisper,  of  the 
stream  that  ran  from  the  Well;  and  the  soft,  white 
clouds  of  steam,  dancing  and  beckoning  like 
strange  beings  that  had  life,  this  way  and  that  way 
across  the  water.  .  .  . 

"I'll  make  no  delay,  for  fraid  I'd  take  fright 
altogether  here!"  she  said  to  herself;  and  she 
hurried  forward  to  the  brink  of  the  Well,  and 
dipped  in  her  can. 

What  did  she  see,  when  she  straightened  herself 
up  again,  but  a  Face,  at  the  other  side  of  the  Well, 
and  it  staring,  staring  at  her. 

Her  heart  stopped  beating;  then  "Patsy!"  she 
said,  in  a  choked  kind  of  voice.  .  .  . 

At  the  word,  a  puff  of  steam  blew  between  her 
and  the  Face,  and  when  she  was  able  to  see  clearly 
again,  it  was  gone! 

How  Marg  got  home  that  night,  she  never  knew. 
All  of  a  tremble  she  was ;  so  much  so,  that  her  two 
shoes  were  full  up  with  the  water  that  kept  spilling 
out  of  the  can,  she  was  walking  so  unsteadily.     But 


An  American  Visitor  249 

still  she  kept  on  as  fast  as  she  could,  and  never  let 
go  her  hold  of  the  water  from  the  Holy  Well,  till  she 
had  it  landed  in  upon  the  kitchen  floor.  And  proud 
she  was  to  find  herself  there !  and  to  be  able  to  shut 
the  door,  between  herself  and  the  black  shadows 
that  seemed  to  rise  out  of  the  night,  and  to  have 
been  chasing  and  threatening  upon  her  heels,  once 
she  left  the  Holy  Well,  all  the  way  across  the  dark, 
lonesome  fields. 

But  what  was  worse  on  her  was,  that  the  old  fret 
seemed  to  be  wakening  up  in  her  heart;  a  sharp 
kind  of  pain,  after  all  those  years,  at  sight  of  the 
boy  that  had  treated  her  so  queerly.  She  couldn't 
tell  why!  but  there  it  was;  and  there's  others  the 
same,  that  will  always  have  a  soft  comer  in  their 
hearts  for  any  one  they  were  young  with;  let  alone 
that  they'd  have  a  wish  for,  as  poor  Marg  had  for 
Ratigan. 

And,  "Was  it  Patsy  that  was  in  it?"  she  kept 
asking  herself;  "or  could  it  be  that  it  was  only 
some  Appearance  for  Death  ...  or  a  Visit  .  .  . 
the  Lord  be  between  us  and  harm,  I  pray!" 

But  now  she  was  inside  her  own  house,  and  it  all 
seemed  full  of  light  that  was  very  bright  after  the 
dark  night  outside.  .  .  .  There  was  a  great  look  of 
comfort  upon  it.     There  were  rows  and  rows  of 


250         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

good  pewter  plates  and  dishes  and  noggins,  all 
shining  and  twinkling  in  the  blazing  firelight,  she 
had  them  so  well  scoured  and  polished  up.  And 
the  place  was  hung  round  with  the  fine  sides  of 
bacon  that  she  had  cured ;  hanks  of  yam  she  had 
spun,  and  stockings  she  had  knitted,  in  the 
chimney-comer,  above  her  spinning-wheel  of  black 
oak.  And  Mickey  himself  was  sitting  there,  very 
much  as  she  had  left  him,  in  his  big  chair,  close 
to  the  turf-box,  the  way  he  had  it  convenient  to 
throw  on  a  few  sods  when  they  were  needed  to  keep 
the  big  pot  boiling.  He  had  his  specs  upon  his 
nose  and  his  pipe  ready  filled,  and  the  newspaper 
on  his  knee,  reading  in  it  now  and  again.  Mar- 
garet never  forgot  to  bring  that  to  him,  every 
week,  from  Melia's  shop. 

"You're  later  than  I  thought,"  said  Heffeman 
to  her. 

"There's  what  has  me  delayed,"  said  Margaret. 
"Kitty  Grennan  that  bid  me  try  the  water  from 
the  Holy  Well  on  that  leg  of  yours  ..."  and  she 
showed  him  what  she  had  in  the  can. 

"And  is  that  what  you  were  at!"  said  Mickey, 
looking  as  proud  as  Punch;  "getting  the  blessed 
water  to  beethe  me  leg.  Well,  sure,  you  can't  do 
worse  than  try  it !     But  I  was  getting  really  unaisy 


An  American  Visitor  251 

in  me  mind,  for  fear  of  something  having  happened 
you  .  .  .  and  a  body  feels  a  thing  of  the  sort 
worse,  if  they're  helpless  the  way  I  am!" 

"The  sorra  ha'porth  is  wrong  with  me!"  said 
Marg. 

And  neither  there  was.  And,  of  course,  there 
was  no  occasion  to  tell  Hefieman  about  what  had 
happened  at  the  Holy  Well.  What  could  she  say? 
If  it  was  an  Appearance,  well  and  good !  there  was 
no  more  to  be  said.  But  if  it  was  Ratigan  .  .  .  ! 
and  how  could  it  be?  How  could  he  be  there, 
trying  to  play  off  some  trick  on  her?  Wouldn't 
it  be  best  to  say  nothing? 

How  could  it  be  Patsy?  wasn't  he  married  in 
America,  ay,  long  enough  before  she  was  herself! 
And  never  had  thought  it  worth  his  while  to  send 
her  one  line,  either  to  ask  for  news  of  herself,  or 
to  tell  her  what  he  was  doing  with  himself,  out 
there.  Just  by  chance,  she  had  heard  of  his 
marriage.  And,  in  troth,  only  for  hearing  that, 
she  might  be  Marg  Molally  yet.  You  never  can 
tell  what  small  little  word  here  or  there  will  get 
you  to  do  a  certain  thing  or  to  leave  it  alone. 

Whatever  came  or  went,  then  or  at  any  other 
time,  Marg  never  failed  in  anything  that  could  be 
done  for  Mickey.     She  was  very  fearful  about 


252         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

going  to  the  Well,  after  seeing  what  she  saw  there, 
that  first  night.  And  it  should  be  done  after  dark, 
too;  still,  she  persevered. 

"It  must  be  continued  on,"  said  Dark  Moll, 
that  had  a  good  knowledge  of  such  things,  so  that 
Marg  thought  well  of  consulting  her,  one  day  she 
met  her  on  the  road;  "you  must  go  on  wid  it. 
And  the  water  must  be  got  by  one  that  has  a  wish 
for  whoever  has  need  of  it;  and  that  person  must 
go  by  themselves  ...  if  the  Holy  Well  is  to  do  any 
good,  that  is!" 

There  wasn't  really  one,  on  the  face  of  this 
earth,  to  care  one  straw  about  poor  Mickey,  only 
his  wife.  And  Marg  .  .  .  sure,  it  was  more 
compassion  than  anything  else  she  felt  for  him, 
seeing  how  old  and  lonely  and  helpless  he  was. 
Though,  indeed,  he  was  kind  in  his  own  way  to  her, 
and  showed  great  confidence  and  respect  for  her 
and  all  she  did,  and  she  felt  thankful  to  him,  over 
and  over,  for  that,  and  for  the  good  home  he  put 
her  over.  That's  a  thing  that  is  generally  a  satis- 
faction to  a  woman,  and  it  was  to  Margaret. 

But  with  others,  Mickey  Heffeman  was  no 
great  favourite.  He  had  no  agreeable  ways  with 
him.  He  would  do  a  kind  turn  for  another,  as 
soon  as  the  next  one;  but  then  again  he  had  a 


An  American  Visitor  253 

fashion  of  taking  the  good  out  of  whatever  he  did 
that-a-way ;  the  same  as  the  cow  that  fills  the  can, 
and  then  kicks  it  over.  So  it  came  about  that 
there  was  no  one  to  go  for  the  water  for  his  leg  but 
Marg  herself.  She  went  to  the  Holy  Well  every 
evening  of  her  life  then.  Sometimes  it  would  be 
fairly  early,  just  duskish,  and  sometimes  it  would 
be  late  enough  before  she  would  be  ready  to  start 
off,  but  she  never  failed  to  go. 

This  was  the  way  with  Marg,  and  as  nothing 
strange  occurred  for  some  time,  she  was  beginning 
to  think  that  she  had  only  imagined  to  see  Ratigan 
that  Hallow  Eve  at  the  Holy  Well,  when  she  got 
another  great  fright  there.  Bad  as  the  first  was, 
this  was  worse,  so  much  so,  that  she  nigh-hand  fell 
out  of  her  standing. 

She  was  making  her  way  along  by  the  Furry 
Hills,  when  suddenly  there  was  the  greatest  stamp- 
ing and  rustling  and  big  clattering  as  if  cart-loads  of 
stones  were  being  thrown  down  the  side  of  the  Fairy 
Cleft,  and  heavy  soimds  of  grunting  and  breathing 
and  snorting.  And  then  she  thought  there  was 
something  like  a  figure  of  a  man,  going  through  the 
dusk,  towards  the  Cleft,  with  a  stick  in  his  hand. 

Margaret  stopped  and  tried  to  think  what  it 
could  mean. 


254         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"It  can't  be  Dan  Grennan!"  she  said  to  herself; 
"for  what  would  he  be  doing  here  at  this  hour? 
God  knows  but  it  might  be  some  villyans  of 
tinkers.  .  .  .  But  whatever  it  is,  I'll  have  to  find 
out  who  is  there,  making  so  free,  and  coming  in 
here  upon  o\ir  place!" 

So,  though  she  was  as  frightened  a  woman  as 
could  be,  she  gave  a  great  shout,  thinking  by  that 
to  frighten  away  whoever  it  might  be. 

It  did  frighten  the  man  that  was  there!  her 
voice  lifted  him  off  his  feet,  he  was  so  startled,  the 
fields  being  generally  so  silent  at  that  hour. 

He  jumped  up,  and  then  he  stopped;  and  the 
snorting  and  trampling  feet  stopped,  too.  Then 
the  figure,  that  Marg  could  just  make  out  against 
the  pale  yellow  of  the  evening  sky,  where  it  was 
above  the  hill  .  .  .  the  figure  seemed  to  Marg 
to  turn  about,  and  then  she  could  hear  it  coming, 
coming  quickly  down  the  hill  towards  her. 

She  was  frightened  in  earnest  then.  Her  first 
thought  was,  that  she'd  run  away.  But  her 
knees  gave  under  her.  So  she  crouched  down 
close  to  the  damp  ground,  thinking  to  escape 
being  seen.  And  she  had  herself  dead  and  buried, 
in  her  own  mind  that  is,  when  the  man  came  up, 
and  stood  still  beside  her. 


An  American  Visitor  255 

"So  you  don't  know  me,  Marg  Molally!"  he 
said,  in  a  very  sad,  mild  voice;  "you  don't  remem- 
ber poor  Patsy  now!  Nor  couldn't,  I  suppose! 
Mrs.  Heffeman  is  too  big  and  grand  a  person  now, 
to  have  any  recollection  of  the  ould  times!" 

And  with  that,  he  ttuned  on  the  light  of  a  lantern 
he  was  carrying  under  his  coat;  and  Marg  saw 
plainly  who  it  was. 

"In  the  name  of  God,  Patsy  Ratigan,  it's  not 
you!"  she  said. 

"Who  else?"  said  he;  "is  it  that  I'm  that 
changed  a  man,  that  you  don't  know  me?  But 
small  blame  to  me  to  be  changed!  after  all  the 
want  and  hardships  I'm  after  putting  over  me! 
And  small  blame  to  you,  either,  not  to  know  me. 
It's  another  story  with  you,"  he  says,  "the  same 
as  ever  you  look!  not  a  day  older  than  you  were, 
the  day  you  .  .  .  well,  sure,  it's  bad  to  be  raking 
up  old  sores!  But  if  it  was  you  that  had  been 
away,  and  came  back  .  .  .  !  No  matter  what 
change  there  was  upon  you,  I'd  know  your  skin 
upon  a  bush,  so  I  would!" 

Marg  couldn't  but  listen  to  him,  for  she  was  too 
much  surprised  to  do  anything  else.  Puzzled  too 
she  was.  For  she  was  thinking  of  the  Face  she 
had  seen  at  the  Well;  and  she  had  known  that  to 


256         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

be  Patsy  Ratigan.  And  now  here  was  a  big,  red- 
faced,  puffy-looking  man,  saying  that  he  was 
Ratigan ! 

God  knows,  there's  many  a  thing  remains  a 
puzzle!  not  to  speak  of  what  a  body  might  chance 
upon,  of  a  Hallow  Eve. 

But  she  got  no  time  then  to  think  this  out,  for  of 
all  the  romancing  that  ever  was  heard,  and  Rati- 
gan reeled  it  out  of  him  then. 

"Little  I  thought,  that  when  we'd  meet,  you 
would  have  forgotten  me!"  he  said;  "but  sure 
enough,  there's  the  way  .  .  .   ! 

"  The  full  pig  in  the  sty 
Thinks  little  of  the  empty  one  passing  by  I 

And  I  working  and  slaving  off  there  in  America, 
and  never  thinking  when  I  came  back,  that  I'd 
find  meself  forgot  by  every  one,  and  you  marrit!" 

"Marrit!"  said  Marg;  "and  what  about  your- 
self? and  the  widdah  with  her  shop  .  .  .  and  the 
six  children?" 

"Widdah?  What  widdah?"  said  Ratigan; 
"who  was  it  at  all  that  put  round  that  story  upon 
me?  I  only  wish  I  had  him  here!"  says  he,  very 
courageous,  "and  I'd  soon  show  him  the  differ! 
And  you  to  believe  that  of  me!     I  couldn't  have 


An  American  Visitor  257 

believed  it  of  you  .  .  .  only  for  seeing  it  now !  All 
I  wonder  is,"  he  went  on,  very  bitter,  "that  it 
wasn't  ten  widdahs!  and  sixty  children  that  they 
had  laid  out  for  me!  And  I  that  was  thinking  of 
no  one,  only  the  girl  at  Ardenoo  that  I  used  to  be 
helping  of  an  evening  with  the  bullocks  .  .  .  and 
of  the  welcome  home  she  would  have  for  me, 
whenever  I'd  come  back!" 

Phwat!  what  he  had  in  his  mind  was,  that  he 
had  had  enough  of  the  hard  work  in  America,  and 
the  hurry  and  noise  there,  once  the  widdah  died, 
the  crature.  And  her  children  took  and  threw 
Ratigan  out  of  that;  and  it  appeared  then  that 
they  owned  the  shop  and  money,  once  the  widdah 
was  gone.  And  a  loss  it  was  to  Patsy,  that  he 
hadn't  inquired  fully  into  the  thing  before  he  got 
married.  But  when  he  had  to  quit  out  of  the  shop, 
where  he  had  Hved  very  nice  and  easy,  and  found 
he  would  have  to  earn  for  himself,  he  began  to  turn 
over  in  his  mind  about  Ardenoo.  Maybe  Marg 
Molally  was  to  the  good  still.  And  he  knew  her  to 
be  a  good  warrant  to  work.  Moreover,  he  re- 
membered that  Ardenoo  was  a  pleasant  place  for 
being  idle  in ;  and  that's  what  he  liked  best  always. 

What  he  said  further  then  to  Marg  was,  that  all 
he'd  care  to  do  now  was,  to  have  leave  to  rest 
17 


258         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

himself  awhile  before  going  back  again;  and  that 
he  was  trying  the  water  of  the  Holy  Well  for  a  bad 
foot  he  had.  But  he  had  been  advised  to  do  the 
cure  secretly,  and  that  was  how  he  chanced  to  be 
coming  there  so  late  to  the  Fairy  Cleft. 

"But,"  says  Ratigan,  "I  never  said,  to  man  nor 
mortal  except  yourself,  who  I  am.  You're  the 
only  living  soul  in  Ardenoo  that  I  have  any  wish 
to  speak  to;  and  I'll  trust  to  you  to  say  nothing!" 

"Very  well!"  said  Marg,  a  bit  puzzled  why  he 
should  want  nothing  said.  But,  like  many  an- 
other, she  was  proud  to  be  told  what  no  one  else 
knew. 

"And  where  do  you  stop?"  said  Marg  then. 

"Beyant  in  the  town,"  said  Ratigan,  telling 
the  truth  for  once;  "Mrs.  Melia  that  lets  me  sleep 
in  the  hay-loft  that  she  has  leaning  up  at  the  back 
of  the  house;  and  then  it's  not  so  expensive  on  a 
poor  man  like  Patsy.  And,  besides,  I'd  liefer  not 
to  be  inside  the  shop ;  I  can't  abide  the  least  smell 
of  drink!" 

Mrs.  Melia  could  have  told  a  different  story 
about  that,  for  the  American,  as  he  was  called  at 
the  shop,  was  the  talk  of  the  whole  place,  the  way 
he  was  going  on  with  every  play-boy  that  was 
there,  treating  them  all.     And  she  could  get  no 


An  American  Visitor  259 

money  out  of  him,  only  now  and  then.  He 
would  always  be  telling  her,  that  he  was  expecting 
funds  from  his  agent  in  America  by  the  next  mail. 

Well,  that  agent  hved  quite  convenient  to  Ar- 
denoo!  and  was  going  about  on  four  legs,  as  long 
as  he  would  be  let.  There  was  no  doubt  that 
Ratigan  had  some  way  of  getting  money  into  his 
pocket ;  and  also  that  cattle  and  other  things  were 
disappearing,  no  one  knew  how;  neither  did  any 
one  know  whose  turn  it  would  be  next. 

There  is  something  very  curious  about  cows 
and  the  things  that  will  happen  to  them.  Dark 
Moll  had  a  story  she  was  fond  of  relating,  about 
Andy  McGuinness,  long  ago,  that  saw  a  strange 
woman  dressed  in  green,  and  long  hair  as  yellow  as 
butter  flowing  down  her  back,  and  she  was  milk- 
ing Andy's  fine  cow  one  summer  evening.  So 
Andy  caught  the  cow  by  the  tail,  when  the  woman 
disappeared  at  sight  of  him.  And  by  that  means 
he  got  inside  the  Furry  Hills.  And  there  was  the 
fairy  woman  he  had  seen,  and  she  with  a  fairy 
child  in  her  arms.  And  Andy  had  to  promise  her 
that  she  might  take  a  pint  of  milk  every  night  for 
the  child.  And  then  he  found  himself  out  again 
with  his  cow  safe  in  his  own  fields.  And  after 
that    he    had    no  more  trouble  with   her.     She 


26o         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

had  been  no  use  to  him  up  to  that,  giving 
only  small  sups  of  milk,  and  no  yield  of  butter 
upon  even  what  she  gave. 

Well,  Moll  said,  now  that  all  the  cattle  were 
disappearing,  that  it  would  be  simple  enough  to 
find  out  all  about  them  if  only  some  one  had  the 
spirit  to  go  to  the  Fairy  Cleft  like  Andy,  and  see 
what  was  taking  place  there.  She  was  right,  too, 
as  it  happened,  though  not  exactly  in  the  way  she 
meant.  But  no  one  had  any  wish  to  take  that 
advice. 

"It's  easy  for  them  to  talk,  that  will  do  nothing 
themselves!  advice  is  always  cheap!"  they  would 
say. 

Ratigan,  or  the  American,  as  the  people  called 
him,  had  a  good  deal  to  say  about  the  stealing  of 
the  stock. 

"If  it  was  away  in  the  States  that  such  a  thing 
was  going  on,"  he  said,  "the  whole  countryside 
would  join,  and  turn  out  to  hunt  the  cattle- thief ! 
What  good  are  the  people  here,  anyway!  Only 
for  this  bad  foot  of  mine,  I'd  start  the  thing 
meself!" 

And  with  that  he  stuck  out  a  foot  as  big  as  a  bee- 
hive, to  all  appearance.  And  who  was  to  know 
that  there  wasn't  a  ha'porth  the  matter  with  the 


An  American  Visitor  261 

same  foot?  It  was  all  play-acting  he  was,  and 
by  this  talk  he  made  it  easy  for  himself  to  come 
and  go  after  dark,  in  and  out  of  the  hay-loft  at 
Melia's. 

"Dan  Grennan,"  said  Ratigan  another  time, 
"Dan  that  had  a  great  deal  to  say  over  his  glass 
last  night  about  this  business,  and  in  particular 
about  a  bullock  that  is  missing  off  the  Furry  Farm. 
Strayed,  as  Hkely  as  not!  But  I  can't  help  think- 
ing of  a  saying  I  used  to  hear  from  an  Irishman  I 
met  over  in  America;  how  that  the  fox  always 
smells  his  own  smell!" 

There  were  some  that  heard  him  say  this  that 
were  inclined  to  be  angry.  It  was  no  right  thing 
to  say  of  a  decent  neighbour.  But  the  others 
laughed  it  off.  The  American  had  a  way  of 
making  jokes,  and  no  one  minded  much  what  he 
said,  he  being  very  free  with  his  treats,  too,  to 
every  one. 

All  this  time,  poor  Dan  and  Kitty  were  fretting 
their  hearts  out  about  the  bullock  that  was  lost. 
They  knew  weU  that  Heffeman  would  blame  them 
for  the  loss,  and  maybe  bid  them  leave  the  place  for 
some  one  that  would  be  more  careful.  And  then 
what  would  become  of  them  and  the  little  family? 
Marg  did  all  she  could,  but  the  thing  could  not  be 


262         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

kept  from  Mickey's  knowledge  for  ever.  He  took 
it  very  hard. 

You  would  really  think  that  it  was  worse  for 
him  to  be  at  a  loss  than  any  one  else  that  had  met 
the  same  misfortime.  And  he  with  not  one  in  his 
house  to  care  about  providing  for,  except  himself 
and  the  wife !  But  God  help  him  and  all  like  him ! 
Sure  his  money  and  money's  worth  appeared  to  be 
all  he  had,  at  that  time  anyway,  to  care  about; 
excepting  only  Marg  herself,  of  course.  And  he 
was  so  well  used  by  now  to  her,  and  all  her  care 
and  attention,  that  he  scarcely  knew  himself  either 
how  necessary  she  was  to  him,  or  how  much  he 
thought  of  her. 

But  now,  he  wouldn't  listen  to  one  word  she'd 
say  about  this  loss,  to  try  to  reconcile  him  to  it; 
only  he  would  keep  on,  ding-dong,  from  morning 
to  night  and  from  night  to  morning,  lamenting 
about  the  fine  beast  that  was  gone,  and  saying 
that  such  a  thing  had  never  occurred  as  long  as  he 
had  been  to  the  good  himself.  At  last,  he  began 
to  say  that  he'd  have  to  turn  Dan  and  Kitty  away. 

Now  this  is  the  kind  of  talk  Marg  had  to  listen 
to,  all  day  long,  up  and  down,  this  way  and  that 
way,  the  same  thing  over  and  over  again,  till  she 
grew  sick  of  the  very  name  of  a  bullock!    So  you 


An  American  Visitor  263 

could  hardly  blame  her,  that  she  began  to  look 
forward  to  the  evenings,  when  she  would  be 
sUpping  off  to  the  Holy  Well,  and  the  chance  of 
seeing  Ratigan  there  and  passing  a  few  remarks 
with  him.  It  happened  pretty  often  that  they 
met  in  this  way. 

Ratigan  still  had  the  same  pleasant  manners 
with  him,  and  the  tongue  that  could  coax  the  birds 
off  the  bushes.  Sometimes  he'd  be  telling  Marg 
of  all  the  troubles  and  hardships  he  met  up  with, 
out  in  America;  and  then  again,  it  would  be 
nothing  but  about  the  money  you  could  earn  and 
the  fine  times  you  could  have  there.  And  this 
would  be,  while  he  would  be  carrying  the  can  of 
blessed  water  a  piece  of  the  way  home  for  her. 
He  never  could  abide,  he'd  cry,  to  see  a  woman 
have  to  work!  as  long  as  he'd  have  a  leg  imder 
him ;  and  how  that  he  himself  was  nearly  cured  by 
the  same  Well.  Now  Marg  could  not  but  be  glad 
to  have  her  mind  diverted  from  poor  Mickey 
with  his  complaints  about  the  lost  bullock  as  well 
as  his  lame  leg. 

It  was  worse  that  Heffeman  was  growing  over 
this  matter  as  time  went  on,  instead  of  beginning 
to  forget  it.  In  fact,  it  wasn't  Mickey  alone,  or 
even  those  only  that  had  lost  a  beast  themselves 


264         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

that  were  uneasy,  but  all  Ardenoo  could  do 
nothing  but  talk  about  the  cattle  being  stolen, 
and  wonder  whose  turn  would  come  next. 

Now  this  thing  is  so  simple  that  it's  curious 
more  don't  turn  their  hands  to  it.  Horn  brand  or 
hide  brand,  they're  easily  got  rid  of,  with  the  help 
of  a  file  and  a  pair  of  scissors.  And  if  you  start 
early  in  the  night,  you  can  travel  a  long  way  with 
whatever  you  may  have  to  drive,  before  the  weight 
of  the  people  will  be  out  of  their  beds.  And  if 
there  chances  to  be  a  lonely  spot  like  the  Fairy 
Cleft  anyway  convenient,  that  crowns  you  for  the 
job.  The  beasts  could  be  taken  there  and  along 
the  disused  boreen  as  handy  as  you  like.  Ratigan 
had  it  all  as  fit  for  his  requirements  as  if  he  had 
made  it  himself. 

At  last  Heffeman  made  up  his  mind  that  he'd 
nm  no  more  risks  about  having  his  cattle  stolen. 
So  he  said  to  Marg,  "The  fair  in  Clough-na-Rinka 
is  coming  on,  and  it  would  be  as  good  for  us  to  sell 
that  half-score  of  store  cattle  there  as  to  leave 
them  to  be  stolen,  like  their  comrade.  They'll 
sell  at  a  loss, "  he  went  on,  with  a  sigh,  "but  sure, 
little  fish  is  sweet !  and  the  rent  has  to  be  made  up. 
And  it  will  only  be  worse  to  be  keeping  them  back 
and  having  to  fodder  them  in  the  winter,  and 


An  American  Visitor  265 

the  hay  none  too  plenty  .  .  .  sure,  they'd  have 
themselves  ett  against  next  May!" 

"Whatever  you  say  yourself,"  said  Marg,  only 
too  glad  of  the  chance  of  getting  rid  of  the  bullocks, 
and  thinking  that  then  maybe  Mickey  would  cease 
to  be  fretting  and  annoying  himself  over  the  one 
that  was  stolen;  "but  how  will  you  manage  to  get 
to  the  fair?" 

"I  know  well  that  I'd  have  no  right  to  go,  and 
the  leg  the  way  it  is  with  me,"  said  Mickey,  "but 
I  think  you'd  do,  if  you  were  instructed. " 

"I'll  go,  if  you  say  the  word, "  said  Marg. 

She  felt  glad  of  the  chance.  She  would  hardly 
say  it,  even  to  herself,  but  she  would  like  to  get 
away  for  even  that  one  day  from  poor  Mickey. 
Not  that  she'd  let  any  one  say  a  word  against  him, 
but  she  was  worn  out  of  all  comfort  by  his  growling 
and  complaining.  Of  course  it  was  the  bad  leg 
that  helped  to  make  him  so  contrary;  and  Marg 
never  forgot  that,  and  would  never  make  him  an 
answer,  no  matter  what  he'd  say. 

"I  can  go  away  easy  enough  with  the  mare  and 
side-car  .  .  ."  for  that  is  how  Mickey  himself 
always  went  to  fairs. 

"Ora,  what  side-car  do  you  want?"  said  Mickey 
a  bit  short ;  for  now  along  with  all  else,  the  poor  old 


266         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

man  was  fretting  because  he  could  not  go  to  do  the 
business  himself,  being  sure,  Hke  every  one,  that 
he  could  do  it  better  than  any  one  else ;  "what  side- 
car do  you  mean?     Can't  ye  take  the  Httle  ass?" 

"She's  very  slow  now,"  said  Marg,  "and  it  will 
leave  me  that  I'll  have  to  be  a  long  time  away  from 
you." 

"It's  lost  for  the  want  of  work  she  is,  this 
minute,"  said  Heffeman;  "fresh  enough  she  is, 
this  minute,  to  dance  a  cat  off  the  high-road!  and 
as  well,  there's  a  bit  of  ploughing  that  the  mare 
could  be  at,  here  at  home.  ..." 

"I  can  walk;  shanks'  mare  will  do  me  full  as 
well  as  either  ass  or  mare!"  said  Marg,  that  had 
not  one  ounce  of  lazy  flesh  upon  her  bones. 

So  when  the  fair-day  came  round,  she  was  up 
and  off,  bright  and  early,  before  the  stars  were  out 
of  the  skies,  the  cattle  having  been  sent  on  ahead 
with  Dan  Grennan.  Marg  had  no  delay  in  selling 
the  stock,  for  fine  beasts  they  were ;  and  to  a  dealer 
that  she  and  Mickey  were  well  acquainted  with,  so 
that  Marg  felt  no  great  anxiety  about  the  busi- 
ness. 

When  they  had  the  bargain  closed,  "Come  along 
in  here,  Mrs.  Heffernan,  mam,"  said  this  dealer, 
"to  Mrs.  Melia's,  a  decent  woman  she  is  and  keeps 


An  American  Visitor  267 

a  decent  house  as  you  may  wish  to  find.  And  I  can 
be  paying  you  the  money  inside  there,  in  the 
parlour,  away  out  of  the  noise  and  crowds  in  the 
street,"  said  he,  "let  alone  the  mud  and  gutther, 
with  the  heavy  rain  that's  falling.  ..." 

"Very  soft  entirely  it  has  turned,  since  the  turn 
of  the  day, "  said  Marg;  "the  cloak  on  me  is  heavy 
with  the  soaking  wet." 

"You're  saying  only  the  truth,  mam,"  said  the 
dealer;  "and  all  the  more  reason  for  you  to  be 
getting  into  shelter,  where  we  can  be  having  a  cup 
of  tea,  or  whatever  other  refreshment  you  like  to 
put  a  name  upon. " 

"I  thank  you  kindly,"  said  Marg;  "indeed, 
I'll  be  glad  of  something  warm  to  drink.  ..." 

Like  many  another  woman,  Marg  had  neglected 
herself  in  the  matter  of  food,  and  had  never  tasted 
bite  nor  sup  since  leaving  home  that  morning. 
And  now  that  she  had  the  selling  of  the  cattle  off 
her  mind,  she  remembered  that,  and  began  to  feel 
very  weak-Hke  in  herself. 

So  she  raised  no  demur  to  going  into  Melia's, 
and  in  particular  because  she  had  observed  Rati- 
gan  a  piece  off  from  her  down  the  fair-green.  He 
was  pretending  not  to  know  her.  Marg  was  no 
hand  at  that  work,  and  she  was  glad  not  to  have  to 


268         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

meet  up  with  him,  before  all  the  neighbours.  But 
Ratigan  was  keeping  a  close  eye  on  her,  all  through. 
Not  a  turn  of  Marg  that  day  but  he  watched. 
And  when  he  saw  herself  and  the  dealer  going  into 
Melia's,  my  dear,  what  did  he  do,  only  whipped 
round  like  shot,  in  and  out  among  the  crowds  of 
people  and  beasts  of  all  kinds,  and  up  with  him  into 
the  hay -loft.  The  big  foot  was  no  hindrance  to 
him,  he  would  explain,  only  betimes.  And  r'ny- 
way,  every  one  was  too  much  taken  up  with  their 
own  concerns  to  mind  much  what  the  American 
was  about  that  evening. 

The  loft  wasn't  to  say  very  well  built.  There 
was  a  chink  that  he  had  often  found  very  con- 
venient, for  seeing  what  went  on  in  Mrs.  Melia's 
parlour.     He  put  his  eye  to  it  now. 

In  due  course,  he  saw  all  he  wanted  to  see. 
There  were  Marg  and  the  cattle-dealer,  drinking 
their  tea  and  eating  fried  eggs  and  bacon;  and 
badly  they  both  stood  in  need  of  their  bit.  Then 
the  dealer  pulled  out  the  purse,  and  counted  out 
the  money  upon  the  table,  that  he  was  paying  for 
Mickey's  stock;  and  the  luck-penny  was  handed 
back  to  him.  Ratigan's  mouth  was  watering  at 
the  sight,  and  when  he  saw  Marg  tying  up  what 
she  got,  a  full  hundred  poiinds,  in  a  strong  bag, 


An  American  Visitor  269 

and  fastening  that  into  the  front  pocket  of  her 
cloak,  inside,  a  very  safe  spot. 

"Yiz  never  got  any  account  of  the  bullock  that 
was  lost  .  .  .  not  to  say,  stole?"  says  the  dealer. 

"Never  a  word,"  said  Marg;  "whoever  done  it, 
no  one  knows,  nor  can't  think.  And  to  say  that 
all  over  the  whole  of  Ardenoo  such  work  to  be  going 
on!    Sure  it's  a  fright,  so  it  is!" 

"You  may  say  that;  a  fright  it  is,  sure  enough!" 
says  the  dealer;  "but  whoever  it  is,  will  soon  be 
known !  I  have  that  from  certain  knowledge ;  and 
that  the  polls  has  all  ready,  and  will  have  the  thief 
inside  of  the  barracks,  before  he's  a  day  oulder!  so 
mind,  now,  I'm  telling  you!" 

"It  would  be  a  charity,  too!"  said  Marg;  and 
then  the  dealer  bid  her  the  time  of  day,  and  went 
off,  to  get  the  cattle  home  before  it  would  be  dark 
night  down  upon  him  and  them,  and  it  raining 
hard  still. 

Marg  was  just  thinking  in  herself,  had  she  the 
money  safe  for  Mickey,  and  fidgeting  with  her 
hand  to  feel  was  it  where  she  had  put  it,  not  two 
minutes  before,  and  she  was  thinking  of  the  long 
road  that  lay  between  her  and  the  Furry  Farm, 
where  she'd  be  as  apt  as  not  to  meet  with  tinkers 
and  queer  people  going  along,  after  leaving  the  fair 


270         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

and  maybe  they  not  so  sober  as  they  might  be  .  .  . 
when  the  door  of  the  parlour  opened,  very  easy, 
and  in  walked  Ratigan.  And  not  a  limp  was  upon 
him  then!  He  had  too  many  other  things  in  his 
head,  to  remember  about  his  lame  foot.  But  any- 
way, Marg  was  too  much  surprised  to  meet  him 
there  quite  suddenly,  after  she  trying  to  not  see 
him  all  day,  to  remark  on  that.  She  was  flustered, 
too,  about  the  bag  of  money,  not  having  satisfied 
herself  yet  that  she  had  it  in  the  safest  place. 

She  turned  to  face  Ratigan,  trying  to  look 
careless.  But  she  felt  trembly  and  queer,  meeting 
him  there,  in  that  little  crowded-up  parlour. 
Someways,  it  wasn't  the  same  thing  at  all  as  when 
they  would  be  having  just  a  chat  in  the  dusk  at  the 
Holy  Well,  or  straying  along  through  the  quiet 
fields. 

"Good-evening,  Mrs.  Heffeman,  mam,"  said 
Ratigan,  very  polite;  "I  seen  you  over  and  over 
ta-day  ..."  and  he  stopped  short,  and  his  eyes 
began  looking  at  her  every  way. 

"Well,  and  if  you  did,  and  had  anything  to  say, 
why  didn't  you  come  up  and  speak  to  me?"  said 
Marg  hurriedly. 

It  wasn't  what  she  wanted  to  say  to  him  at  all. 

"Och  sure,  how  was  I  to  know  would  you  wish 


An  American  Visitor  271 

that?"  said  Ratigan,  very  humble  in  himself;  and 
then  Margaret's  heart  softened  towards  him. 

"You're  not  going  out  in  that  dreep  of  rain?" 
says  he,  noticing  that  Marg  was  pulling  up  her 
cloak  about  her  shoulders,  where  she  had  it 
undone,  while  she  was  drinking  her  cup  of  tea; 
"teeming  out  of  the  skies  it  is,  as  if  all  the  wathers 
of  the  salt  seas  I  have  to  cross  was  coming  down 
upon  Ardenoo!" 

"I'll  have  to  face  out,  rain  or  no  rain,"  said 
Marg ;  "  I  have  a  long  ways  before  me ! " 

"I've  a  longer ! "  says  he ;  and  he  puffed  a  big  sigh 
out  of  him;  "and  has  to  go  wid  meself.  ..." 

"You  should  be  used  to  that!"   says  Marg. 

He  had  her  persuaded  that  he  never  was  married 
at  all. 

"I  ought  to  be,  I  know,"  said  Ratigan;  "but 
I  haven't  the  short  memory  I  see  with  some 
people  for  the  old  times!  But  them  that's  in 
heaven  themselves,  finds  it  easy  to  forget  all  else; 
and  thim  that's  snug  and  warm  in  their  own  home, 
has  little  thought  for  them  that  has  to  be  without 
in  cold  and  wet  and  hardship!" 

"There's  more  a  body  wants  than  food  and 
fire, "  says  Marg,  as  if  she  was  thinking  out  loud. 

"Ay  is  there !  that's  a  true  word ! "  said  Ratigan. 


2'j2         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

He  was  thinking  at  that  present,  that  he  wanted 
the  price  of  his  passage  back  to  America,  as  badly 
as  ever  a  man  wanted  anything!  He  had  squan- 
dered away  the  money  he  had  got  for  the  cattle  he 
had  stolen,  in  paying  Mrs.  Melia  some  of  what  he 
owed  her,  and  the  rest  drinking  and  spreeing.  And 
now  he  was  after  hearing  through  the  chink  in  the 
hay-loft  all  that  the  dealer  had  been  saying  to 
Marg.  He  knew  about  the  money  she  had  been 
putting  away;  and  he  knew,  too,  about  the  polis, 
and  the  danger  he  was  in.  And  he  felt  that  the 
sooner  he  could  quit  out  of  that  the  better  it  would 
be  for  his  health. 

But  how  was  he  going  to  get  away,  and  he 
without  a  penny  to  his  name!  And  it  would  take 
some  days  for  him  to  get  any  more  by  that  means 
he  was  employing.     And  he  must  lose  no  time. 

The  only  thing  to  be  done  was,  to  get  a  hold  of 
that  bag  of  money  he  had  seen  with  Marg.  Have 
it  he  must,  by  hook  or  by  crook!  Maybe  she'd  go 
with  him.  That  would  be  the  simplest,  though 
not  what  he'd  like  best.  But  he  spoke  to  her  very 
nice  and  soft,  saying  how  he  thought  the  world 
and  all  of  her,  and  trying  to  get  to  coax  her.  .  .  . 

"I  must  be  shortening  the  road  home!"  was  all 
Marg  said  in  answer.    And  she  went  over  to  the 


An  American  Visitor  273 

window,  and  stood  there,  looking  out  at  where  the 
rain  was  coming  down  in  white  sheets  of  wet,  and 
running  down  the  street  in  streams,  all  choked  up 
with  mud,  after  the  traffic  of  the  day,  and  the 
trampling  feet  of  the  sheep  and  cattle.  It  wasn't 
very  tempting;  and  she  turned  away  from  it,  as  if 
she  couldn't  make  up  her  mind  ought  she  to  go,  or 
to  wait  a  while  longer. 

Ratigan  all  the  time  was  watching  her,  like  a  cat 
with  a  mouse. 

"  Maybe  it  would  be  as  good  for  you  to  start  off 
at  once!"  he  said;  "it's  not  better  it  will  be  get- 
ting .  .  .  only  the  dark  night  coming  down.  .  .  ." 

He  was  mad  to  be  off,  knowing  it  woiddn't  an- 
swer for  him  to  be  delaying  there,  so  close  to  the 
barracks,  and  even  wondering  how  soon  he'd  have 
to  make  a  nm  for  it,  money  or  no  money.  But  if 
only  he  could  get  Marg  outside  the  town,  and  on  a 
lonely  piece  of  the  road,  how  simply  he  could  be 
coming  along  behind  her  in  the  dark,  and  take  the 
bag  from  her;  and  she  never  to  know  who  he  was. 
Or  if  she  did  itself,  what  loss !  A  man  like  Ratigan 
can't  be  too  particular. 

"No,  it's  not  better  it  will  be  getting!"  he  said 
again.  .  .  .    "Sure,  if  only  I  dar'  go  with  ye,  to  see 
you  safe  .  .  .  but  that  mightn't  answer  .  .  ." 
18 


274         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"The  Lord  save  us!"  says  Marg,  interrupting 
him  there.  "That's  Mickey!  I  thought  to  know 
the  rattling  sound  of  the  side-car;  it  never  can  go 
by  annonst.  ..." 

Sure  enough,  there  it  was,  coming  up  the  street, 
and  Heffeman  sitting  balanced  upon  it,  looking 
little  and  bent  and  perished-looking,  with  the  dint 
of  the  wind  and  wet,  in  spite  of  the  big  frieze  coat 
he  had  on,  with  the  collar  shaving  his  ears,  and  his 
hands  lost  in  the  length  of  the  sleeves. 

"Holy  Mother  of  God!"  said  Marg,  "sure  it's 
not  down  he's  wanting  to  get,  there,  in  that 
thronged  place !  He'll  be  kilt  dead !  Wait,  wait  a 
minute,  Mickey!"  she  said,  as  if  he  could  hear  her 
through  the  window,  "wait!  there's  no  one  can 
humour  that  poor  leg  only  meself ,  when  he  does  be 
getting  down  off  the  car  ..."  and  in  her  hurry 
to  save  Mickey,  she  threw  off  the  heavy  cloak  and 
left  it,  money  and  all,  down  upon  the  floor,  and 
ran  out,  through  the  heavy  pokers  of  rain,  over  to 
Mickey  upon  the  car. 

"You'll  mind  that  for  me!"  she  called  out  over 
her  shoulder  to  Ratigan,  as  she  darted  out  of  the 
door. 

Mind  it!  Little  delay  Ratigan  made,  only 
whipped  the  bag  of  money  out  of  where  Marg  had 


An  American  Visitor  275 

it  inside  the  cloak,  and  away  with  him,  Kke  a 
redshank,  by  the  back  door. 

"What  at  all  brought  you  here,  at  this  late 
hour?"  said  Marg,  reaching  up  her  hand  to  help 
Mickey  off  the  side-car. 

"Well,  when  I  saw  the  evening  turning  so  wild 
and  hard,"  said  Mickey,  "I  thought  bad  of  you 
having  that  long  walk  home,  after  such  an  early 
start  this  morning.  And  along  with  all,  I  had  a 
bad  dream  and  I  sitting  in  the  chimney-comer. 
I  thought  to  see  you  in  some  great  danger  .  .  . 
and  it  was  about  the  money  you  were  after  getting 
for  the  bullocks.  ...  So  Dan  was  back,  and  he 
gave  me  an  account  of  all,  and  the  good  price 
they  made.  .  .  .  And  I  got  him  to  throw  the 
harness  on  the  old  mare  .  .  .  it  was  too  bad  a  day 
for  she  to  go  plough.  ...  I  would  have  been  here 
long  ago,  if  I'd  been  able  to  get  ready  meself.  .  .  . 
But  hurry  now,  girl  dear!  you're  getting  all  wet 
.  .  .  and  no  cloak  about  you.  ..." 

"Sure,  what  matter!  And  I  dreading  the  long 
walk  home  in  the  dark!"  said  Marg,  nearly  ready 
to  cry  when  she  thought  of  the  poor  old  lame  chap 
quitting  his  snug  seat  at  home,  to  come  look  for 
her,  at  the  very  time  that  she  was  listening  to 
Ratigan  with  his  foolish  wild  talk. 


276         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"I'll  just  run  back  for  the  cloak,"  said  Marg, 
"and  then  there  need  be  no  more  delay  upon  us, 
only  to  get  home  in  comfort!" 

Well,  there's  where  it  was,  when  she  went  back, 
and  took  up  the  cloak,  and  just  put  her  hand 
inside,  to  make  sure  she  had  the  money,  and  it 
wasn't  there!  She  nigh-hand  fainted,  with  the 
fright.  She  couldn't  believe  it!  She  felt  in  all 
her  pockets,  over  and  over  again.  She  called  out 
for  Mrs.  Melia,  who  came  and  helped  her  to  look 
everywhere  about  the  room,  and  out  in  the  wet 
street,  over  to  where  Mickey  was  waiting  on  the 
side -car,  and  telling  Marg  to  make  haste  and  come 
on  out  of  that. 

"What  will  you  do,  at  all  at  all?"  said  Mrs. 
Melia  .  .  .  "will  you  be  able  to  pacify  Mickey? 
.  .  .  tell  him  .  .  .  what  would  you  say?  that  you 
left  it  here  with  me,  and  I  having  it  locked  up  and 
had  to  go  away.  ..." 

Mrs.  Melia  made  that  up  out  of  the  goodness  of 
her  heart,  but  Marg  wouldn't  agree. 

"I  can  only  say  what  happened,"  she  said. 

She  did  that;  and  Heffeman  looked  terribly  put 
about.  But  he  took  it  the  best  ever  you  knew. 
Far  worse  Marg  herself  was. 

"We'll  go  at  once  and  notice  the  polis!"  he 


An  American  Visitor  277 

said;  "sure  whoever  took  the  money  can't  be 
far!" 

So  they  did  that;  but  they  scarcely  had  their 
story  told,  when  in  walked  two  constables,  and 
Ratigan  between  them. 

It  was  all  up  with  him  then!  the  butter  came  out 
of  the  stir-about  in  earnest.  The  whole  thing  was 
opened  up  and  explained.  Great  excitement 
there  was  over  it,  and  a  trial  of  law,  that  you  can 
hear  talked  about  still  in  Ardenoo. 

What  never  was  rightly  known  was,  who  told 
the  polis.  Some  laid  it  on  Dark  Moll,  but  others 
would  not  believe  she'd  do  such  a  dirty  mean  turn. 
Still,  she  had  a  spleen  in  for  Ratigan,  because  he 
never  gave  her  so  much  as  the  price  of  a  drink 
of  porter;  penny  wise  and  pound  foolish  as  the 
saying  is. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ROSY  AT  FURRY  FARM 

Kitty  Grennan  was  just  after  starting  the  child- 
ren off  for  school,  of  a  dark,  rainy  morning,  coming 
up  to  the  Christmas.  She  was  ready ing-over  the 
house,  stooping  to  make  down  a  fire  for  the  pig's 
pot,  when  she  heard  a  quick,  heavy  step  outside, 
and  in  comes  Dan,  very  hurried. 

"Musha  then,  Dan,"  said  Kitty,  a  bit  short, 
"what  brings  you  back  here  so  soon?" 

She  was  feeUng  that  she  had  a  lot  to  get  through, 
and  that  she  could  do  it  better  if  there  was  no  one 
in  the  place  only  herself. 

"Sure,  I  thought,"  she  went  on,  "that  if  I  seen 
you  here  by  dinner-time,  it  would  be  the  soonest  I 
need  expect,  after  all  you  told  me  last  night  had  to 
be  done,  below  there  at  that  gap,  to  keep  the  cattle 
from  breaking  out  of  their  own  fields.  .  .  .  But 
Dan,  agra!  is  there  anything  the  matter  with  ye? 
You  look  pale-looking,  someways  ...  as  if  you 

278 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  279 

were  after  seeing  something  not  right  ...  a  ghost 
or  .  .  .  Gashly  white  you  are  indeed,  God  help 
ye!" 

"The  sorra  ha'porth  is  wrong  with  me!"  said 
Dan,  "but  as  for  what  I  seen  .  .  .  !  troth,  it  may 
be  a  ghost,  or  it  may  not!  But  the  appearance 
there  was  upon  it  was  of  little  Rosy  Rafferty,  that 
marrit  Art  Heff  eman  .  .  .  and  we  heard  last  week 
was  after  burying  him,  God  rest  his  sowl!  sup- 
posing it's  true  that  he's  gone.  ..." 

"And  is  it  true?" 

"Och,  so  she  says,  and  that  poor  Art  was  only 
lying  a  short  time,  though  out  of  his  health  for  long 
enough  .  .  .  but  I  must  be  off  now  ..." 

"Stop  a  minute,  Dan!  V/hat  brings  her  here 
now?" 

"Wirra,  if  I  know!  going  back  home  to  the  poor 
old  mother,  she  says.  And  now,  will  ye  lave  the 
way,  and  let  me  out  on  the  door?  " 

Kitty  was  standing  between  him  and  it. 

"To  the  mother!  And  is  it  that  Rosy  doesn't 
know?" 

"The  sorra  word  she  knows!" 

"And  you  didn't  let  on  to  her  about  it?" 

"No!  nor  wouldn't,  for  a  pound-note.  Let  me 
get  out  of  this  place,  woman  dear,  I  tell  ye.     She'll 


28o         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

be  here  in  no  time,  and  I'll  not  stop  to  be  seeing 
her  .  .  ." 

"Ora,  Dan,  acushla,  won't  you  wait  even  till 
I'll  make  her  sensible  of  what's  after  happen- 
ing  .  .  .  ?" 

"I'll  not!  Where's  the  use?  It's  woman's 
work,  so  it  is!  Let  me  go!  Sure,  haven't  I  to  be 
off  about  me  business!" 

And  with  that,  Dan  made  a  bolt  through  the 
door,  and  was  out  of  sight,  before  you  could  look 
about  you. 

"What  will  I  do  at  all  at  all?"  said  Kitty  to 
herself,  trembling  and  watching  the  door. 

She  hadn't  long  to  wait,  fortunately,  for  that 
would  only  have  made  her  more  cowardly  .  .  . 
when  up  comes  Rosy,  and  she  with  a  young  child 
in  her  arms.  As  thin  as  a  rake,  Rosy  was,  and  her 
face  as  white  as  the  snow. 

"Och,  Rosy,  and  is  it  yourself  that's  in  it!" 
said  Kitty,  speaking  very  fast;  "come  in  here, 
ahagur,  and  sit  down  by  the  fire !  Here,  let  me  take 
the  child  from  you;  you  must  be  tired !  Sure,  they 
say  a  hen  is  heavy  if  you  carry  it  far  enough,  let 
alone  a  babby  the  size  of  this  of  yours,  the  Lord 
love  her,  I  pray!" 

Kitty  talked  like  that,  because  she  was  so  upset 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  281 

and  confused.  The  baby  was  no  size,  scarcely. 
But  it's  never  too  easy  to  know  what  to  say  to  them 
that  are  in  trouble.  So  it  was  the  last  word  she 
wanted  that  Kitty  could  lay  her  tongue  to  then. 

Rosy  just  sat  down,  and  let  Kitty  take  the  child 
from  her.  And  her  two  hands  dropped  into  her 
lap,  and  she  sat  there,  with  the  big,  hollow  eyes  of 
her  looking,  looking  all  aroimd,  as  if  she  was 
expecting  to  find  there  something  she  had  lost; 
and  every  minute  giving  a  bit  of  a  cough,  very  low 
down  and  weak-sounding,  as  if  that  was  all  she 
was  able  to  do.  Her  hands  were  burning  hot, 
but  she  shivered  now  and  then,  and  the  wet  from 
her  clothes  began  rising  in  steam,  with  the  heat  of 
the  fire,  for  Kitty  had  her  by  the  hearth. 

"Well,  and  how  are  ye  yourself?  "  Kitty  went  on, 
* '  and  this  Httle  one  is  cold,  the  cratyureen !  I  must 
get  her  a  sup  of  warm  milk.  She's  about  the  one 
size  with  our  own  babby  here,  that's  asleep  above 
in  the  room.  ..." 

"Ay,  poor  little  Bride,  that  is,"  said  Rosy; 
"she's  all  I  have  now,  since  I  lost  poor  Art.  ..." 

"We  heard  about  that,  but  only  a  bare  sketch  of 
it,  and  couldn't  rightly  believe  it,"  said  Kitty; 
"God  help  us  all!  the  fine  boy  that  he  was!  And 
was  he  long  sick,  the  poor  fellah?" 


282         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"Ay!  long  enough  for  he  to  be  tired  of  his  bed, 
and  of  seeing  me  put  about  for  the  want  of  his 
wages.  That  was  what  had  him  worse !  It  was  a 
chill  he  took,  from  a  wetting  he  got,  one  night  that 
one  of  the  other  van-drivers  was  too  drunk  to  look 
after  his  own  horse,  when  they  got  back  to  the 
stables.  So  Art  did  this  man's  work,  when  he  had 
his  own  done,  the  way  he  wouldn't  maybe  lose  his 
job,  let  alone  the  poor  horse,  that  couldn't  be  left 
without  his  feed  and  rub-down.  That  left  Art 
very  late  getting  home.  And  you  couldn't 
warm  him.  Pains  in  the  bones  he  took.  There 
was  nothing  I  heard  of  but  I  tried  with  him.  But 
all  was  of  no  avail!" 

"Glory  be  to  God!  to  think  he  took  his  death  so 
simple!" 

"Ay  and  suffered  terrible,"  said  Rosy,  still 
looking  all  round  the  kitchen,  and  talking  quite 
hard  and  unconcerned  you'd  think;  "and  until 
then,  we  had  great  confort!  He  was  earning  fine 
pay  at  that  job.  But  it's  not  long  the  purse  will 
last,  when  there's  nothing  coming  in,  and  a  great 
deal  going  out,  for  medicine  and  doctors  and 
nourishment.  .  .  .  But  what  I  thought  terrible 
bad  of,  was  not  being  able  to  get  down  here  to  see 
me  poor  mother!  not  for  a  long  time.     I  managed 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  283 

to  send  her  a  few  little  things,  to  put  her  over 
the  HoUintide;  but  sure  well  I  know,  she'd  have 
given  all  the  tea  and  sugar  that  ever  came  out  of 
DubHn,  for  the  one  sight  of  me!" 

"Ay,  so  she  would!"  said  Kitty;  "but  she 
wasn't  too  badly  off  for  company  then  ...  we 
went  over  to  see  her.  ..." 

"Well,  and  how  did  she  appear  then?" 

"The  best!"  said  Kitty;  "Dark  Moll  was 
stopping  with  her  at  that  time,  in  the  nights,  any- 
way. And  your  mother  was  looking  very  comfort- 
able and  all  done  out  very  nice;  and  the  house  the 
same." 

Kitty  saw  no  occasion  for  telling  Rosy  that  it 
was  in  bed  the  Widdah  Rafferty  was  that  day,  and 
scarcely  able  to  turn  herself  round;  and  her  poor 
eyes  strained  crooked  in  her  head,  watching  the 
door,  for  Rosy  and  Art,  that  she  was  expecting 
down  from  town.  And  it  was  Kitty  herself  that 
had  swept  over  the  place,  and  had  settled  up  the 
old  woman  with  a  white  handkerchief  about  her 
neck,  and  a  clean  cap  from  imder  the  bed,  where 
she  was  saving  it  up  for  Rosy  to  see  on  her,  the  way 
she  would  be  someway  decent-looking  then. 

"I'm  glad  to  get  that  account  of  her,"  said 
Rosy;  "many's  the  time  me  and  Art  spoke  over 


284         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

her,  and  how  we  could  not  prevail  with  her  to  come 
to  us.  We  had  her  once,  but  she  couldn't  content 
herself  in  Dublin.  Cart-ropes  wouldn't  hold  her; 
only  grousing  to  get  back  to  her  own  little  house; 
lonesome,  she  said,  she  felt,  for  the  dresser  with  the 
bits  of  chaneys  of  cups  and  jugs  that  she  was 
looking  at  all  her  life ;  and  sure,  the  weight  of  them 
were  no  good!  only  cracked  so  that  they  wouldn't 
hold  anything!" 

"Sure  it's  just  whatever  a  body  is  used  to!" 
said  Kitty;  "I  chanced  to  be  going  past  her  house, 
the  day  she  got  back  to  it.  You'd  wonder,  to  see 
how  proud  she  was,  when  she  picked  the  key  of  the 
door  out  from  under  the  furze-bush,  where  she 
had  hid  it,  when  she  went  away.  ..." 

"Just  two  months  was  all  she  stopped  with 
us,"  said  Rosy. 

"A  bit  puzzled  she  was,  at  first,  to  open  the 
door,"  said  Kitty,  "because  the  grass  and  weeds 
had  all  grown  up  rotmd  about  the  furze-bush,  and 
it  was  a  good  while  before  we  could  get  the  key. 
But  it  was  there,  just  as  she  had  left  it,  for  Hefler- 
nan  never  went  next  nor  near  the  place  although  it 
is  on  his  land.  But  it  appeared  as  if  he  knew 
nothing  about  her  going,  or  coming  back  either. 

"So  we  opened  the  door  that  was  stiff,  and  the 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  285 

key  rusty  and  had  to  be  humoured.  And  there, 
when  we  got  in,  everything  was  just  as  she  had  left 
it,  even  to  a  few  sods  of  turf  piled  against  the 
wall.  And  in  that  way,  we  had  no  delay  in  lighting 
a  bit  of  fire.  I  stopped  awhile  with  her,  and  got 
her  in  a  sup  of  spring  water.  And  she  had  plenty 
of  little  vittles,  that  she  said  you  had  sent  with 
her.  ..." 

"Ay,  'twas  little  she'd  take  from  me  .  .  .  and 
never  could  get  to  know  why  she  wouldn't  stop 
altogether!"  said  Rosy  again,  very  pitiful,  as  if  she 
couldn't  but  keep  thinking  of  that. 

"I  never  could  find  out  rightly,  what  fault  she 
had  to  being  in  Dublin,"  said  Kitty;  "but  for  one 
thing,  says  she  to  me,  'It's  a  fright,  so  it  is,  the  way 
they  do  be  going  along  with  the  funerals  in  Dublin! 
the  horses  trotting  their  living  best,  as  if  it  was  a 
hurry  the  people  were  in,  to  get  shut  of  whoever 
was  dead,  and  have  them  out  of  their  sight,  once 
the  breath  of  life  leaves  the  body!  They  appear 
to  have  no  nature  in  them  at  all,  there  beyant  in 
the  Big  Smoke,'  she  says,  'so  much  so  that  I'd 
far  liefer  to  be  at  home  in  me  own  little  place 
here,'  she  says,  'with  the  little  things  and  the  ways 
that  I  was  always  used  to,'  she  says." 

"  Whethen  now,  she  needn't  have  minded  that!" 


286         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

said  Rosy;  "we  could  have  brought  up  any  of  her 
own  little  curey-careys  that  she  had  any  wish  for 
.  .  .  and  as  for  funerals!  the  Lord  knows  how 
she  got  such  a  notion  as  that!  Sure  wouldn't 
we  have  brought  her  back  to  Ardenoo,  and  buried 
her  in  the  old  graveyard  of  Clough-na-Rinka, 
where  all  the  family  does  be  buried?  Poor  Art! 
his  people  all  belong  to  Dublin  and  it  was  with 
them  I  laid  him.  But  we'd  have  brought  her  back 
here,  and  laid  her  alongside  me  poor  father.  She 
that  was  particular  about  his  funeral !  She  made 
him  be  carried  the  longest  way  round,  and  she  went 
to  the  greatest  trouble  ever  you  knew,  for  fear 
they'd  be  opening  the  grave  for  him  of  a  Tuesday. " 

"  I  often  heard  that  it  was  no  right  thing  to  do, '' 
said  Kitty.     Neither  it  is. 

"He  was  worthy  of  it  all,  whatever!"  said  Rosy, 
letting  herself  go  back  on  the  old  days  when  she 
had  both  father  and  mother  with  her;  "dear!  the 
kind  father  he  was  to  me!  'Look  at  your  long 
scur sheen  of  a  daughter!'  me  mother  would  cry 
to  him  betimes,  'off  there  she  is,  idling  and  playing 
football  with  the  boys!  she  has  a  right  to  be 
checked ! '  and  all  the  answer  me  father  would  make 
was,  'Let  her  alone!  the  world  will  well  lam  her! 
she'll  have  her  own  share  of  trouble,  time  enough ! ' 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  287 

And  sure,  so  I  had!"  said  Rosy,  and  with  that 
word,  she  began  to  cry. 

"Ora,  God  comfort  ye!"  said  Kitty,  crying 
herself  then.  And  she  laid  the  child  down  out  of 
her  arms,  and  went  to  compassionate  Rosy. 

But  Rosy  stood  up,  and  flung  away  from  her, 
and  then  threw  herself  down  upon  the  settle,  and 
"Let  me  alone!"  she  said,  "until  I  cry  me  fill!" 

"Do  that,  God  help  ye!"  said  Kitty;  "sure  it 
will  only  ease  your  heart;  only  not  to  be  fretting 
too  much.  ..." 

"And  why  wouldn't  I  fret  for  Art,  and  cry  him 
too,  and  he  the  best  man  to  me  that  ever  stood  in 
shoes!  No  matter  what  notion  I  took,  even  the 
time  I  got  the  feathery  hat  with  his  week's  wages, 
he  never  as  much  as  said  to  me,  '111  you  done  it. 
Rosy!'" 

And  Kitty  thought  to  let  her  have  her  cry  out, 
and  that  she  would  say  nothing  more  to  stop  her. 
But  Rosy  lifted  herself  up  again  at  that  word  about 
Art,  and  said  she,  "What  at  all  am  I  doing  spend- 
ing me  time  here,  instead  of  going  off  home  at 
once?  Sure  won't  me  mother  be  as  bad  as  meself, 
very  nigh-hand,  about  Art,  that  she  often  said  was 
the  same  as  a  son  to  her?" 

And  she  was  making  for  the  door,  when  Kitty 


288         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

said,  "Rosy,  acushla,  won't  you  stop  a  bit  longer, 
till  the  weight  of  the  rain  is  over?  And  I'm  just 
about  hanging  down  the  kettle,  to  wet  a  cup  of  tea. 
It  will  put  some  heart  into  ye.  Sure  it  will  only 
have  your  mother  worse,  if  you  were  to  go  in  and 
you  so  poor-looking  in  the  face.  Fretting  she'll  be, 
then;  and  you  with  a  cold  upon  you!" 

Rosy  was  after  giving  a  few  little  coughs  out  of 
her  again. 

"I'll  wait  for  no  tea  here!"  said  Rosy;  "can't 
I  get  all  I  want,  at  home  with  her?" 

"  Don't  be  asking  to  go  there,  Rosy ! "  said  Kitty. 
And  there  she  stopped;  and  of  all  the  white, 
frightened  faces  that  ever  was  seen,  Rosy's  was 
the  worst. 

"Why?  is  she  dead  too?"  says  she,  as  calm  and 
quiet  as  if  she  was  just  asking,  "Is  she  gone  to 
the  chapel?" 

"Och  no!  not  at  all!  Dead?  Why,  what  put 
that  foolishness  into  your  head?  But  .  .  .  well, 
you  see,  she  wasn't  to  say  too  well  at  all  this 
length  of  time.  ..." 

"Sure  that's  no  news!"  said  Rosy;  "out  of  her 
health  she  has  been  for  long  enough.  And  isn't 
that  all  the  more  reason  for  I  to  be  with  her,  that 
knows  all  her  little  ways  .  .  .  ?" 


I 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  289 

"Very  weakly  entirely  in  herself  she  was, 
latterly, "  said  Kitty,  "and  I  could  see  no  improve- 
ments in  her,  and  .  .  .  and  had  no  great  com- 
fort. ..." 

"I  used  to  be  dreaming  a  power  about  her!" 
said  Rosy. 

"And  it's  a  long  step,  up  that  boreen,  where 
your  little  place  is,  and  I  wasn't  so  well  able  to  go 
look  after  your  mother, "  said  Kitty,  "when  this  last 
baby  came ;  a  real  little  shaan  she  is,  very  little  and 
donny  in  herself,  and  very  contrary  and  cross,  would 
do  nothing  only  bawl  at  first,  so  that  I  mightn't  lay 
her  out  of  me  arms,  day  or  night  .  .  .  and  ..." 

Kitty  stopped  a  minute,  not  knowing  what  she 
ought  to  say  next. 

"Well?"  says  Rosy,  with  the  two  burning  eyes 
of  her  fastened  on  Kitty's  face. 

"Well,  sure,  Dan  used  to  give  her  a  look-in,  as 
often  as  he  could.  And  he  brought  me  word  how 
that  Mrs.  Rafferty  said  she  wasn't  too  lonesome  at 
all.  And  that  Moll  Reilly  was  the  best  of  com- 
pany to  her,  bringing  her  all  the  news  of  the  whole 
country;  and  real  useful  and  handy,  in  spite  of  her 
having  no  use  of  her  eyes;  would  get  a  few  sprigs 
for  the  fire  or  a  sup  of  water  from  the  well,  as 
handy  as  any  one  else  .  .  .  and  ..." 
19 


290         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

Kitty  stopped  again  here.  It  was  much  like  a 
baulking  horse  being  brought  up  to  a  jump  and 
slipping  off  to  one  side  or  the  other,  every  time  you 
get  close  to  it. 

"She'll  not  want  Moll  any  more  now!"  said 
Rosy. 

"No,  indeed  she'll  not!"  said  Kitty. 

Of  course,  what  she  was  thinking  was,  that 
where  Mrs.  Rafferty  was  at  that  present,  she'd 
have  no  need  of  thinking  about  the  fire  or  water 
either,  only  wait  and  take  what  she'd  get,  one  of 
a  crowd  of  other  old  women  .  .  .  "And  so,  as  I 
was  saying,  I  went  up  to  the  boreen  to  see  your 
mother,  as  soon  as  ever  I  could  get  to  put  the 
baby  down  and  leave  her  .  .  .  and  do  you  know, 
Rosy,  it  was  the  poor  way  I  found  your  mother 
in!" 

Kitty  was  beginning  to  think  that  it  might  be  as 
good  for  her  to  say  something  like  that,  so  that 
Rosy  might  be  got  to  understand  how  things  were, 
and  that  her  mother  was  better  away  from  the  old 
home, 

"Lying  in  the  bed  she  was,"  said  Kitty,  "and 
not  able  to  sit  up  or  move  herself ;  and  the  fire  gone 
black  out  .  .  .  and  no  little  refreshment  within 
her  reach,  only  a  bucket  of  cold  water,  that  she 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  291 

could  be  taking  little  sups  out  of,  till  Moll  would 
be  back  at  dark.  But  still,  she  was  contented 
enough,  and  said  it  was  what  Moll  was  real  good 
to  her;  and  would  share  with  her  whatever  little 
things  she'd  have  gathered  up  through  the  neigh- 
bours on  her  rounds;  a  grain  of  tea  or  a  bit  of 
butter  or  maybe  a  cut  of  bacon;  whatever  it  might 
be  she'd  ..." 

"She'll  not  need  to  be  depending  out  of  Moll 
and  her  old  pucks  of  bags  any  longer!"  said  Rosy, 
a  bit  proud  in  herself. 

The  Raffertys  were  a  most  respectable  family 
always.  Poor  they  might  be,  and  were,  too;  but 
they  never  said  anything  about  that,  or  would 
make  a  poor  mouth,  only  strive  to  put  the  best 
foot  foremost  among  the  neighbours.  "And  I'U 
not  forget  it,"  Rosy  went  on,  "to  poor  Moll,  nor 
let  her  be  the  worse  of  any  little  attention  or  kind- 
ness that  she  showed  to  me  mother,  all  this  time!" 

God  help  her!  and  only  He  knew  what  poor 
Rosy  had  in  her  mind  then,  or  what  way  she 
thought  she  would  have  of  rewarding  Moll!  But 
Rosy  never  thought  much.  If  she  did,  it  wouldn't 
have  been  the  big  surprise  to  her  that  it  was,  to 
hear  all  Kitty  had  to  tell  her,  in  the  end,  about 
the  poor  old  mother. 


292         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

Rosy  stood  up,  and  was  making  to  go  out,  when 
Kitty  said,  "Arrah,  won't  you  wait  awhile  with 
me?" 

"It's  too  long  I've  been  already,  delaying!" 

"But  sure,  listen  .  .  .  !"  and  then  Kitty 
stopped. 

"Well?"  said  Rosy,  half  impatient. 

"She's  .  .  .  she's  not  there  ...   !" 

"What's  that  you're  after  saying  to  me?  that 
me  mother's  not  in  it?" 

"Ora,  Rosy  alanna,  don't  take  it  too  hard! 
but  you  see,  it  was  only  worse  she  was  getting,  and 
a  week  ago  we  sent  for  the  doctor.  And  he  said 
it  was  no  way  for  she  to  be  left  there  with  no  one 
all  day,  only  herself ;  that  it  was  the  best  of  care  she 
needed  .  .  .  and  she  with  no  use  of  herself,  nor 
couldn't  even  turn  in  the  bed.  And  who  was 
there,  to  mind  her?  I  could  only  go  an  odd 
time  .  .  .  and  so  .  .  .  and  so  .  .  .  they  sent  the 
sick-car  and  she  was  took  off  to  the  Union  .  .  . 
and  .  .  ." 

Kitty  had  to  stop  at  that,  for  she  and  Dan  had 
gone  to  help  to  lift  the  poor  weakly  old  woman 
from  her  bed  into  the  sick-car,  and  she  remembered 
the  white  face  of  her,  and  the  way  she  was  shaken 
and  rattled  from  side  to  side,  as  they  drove  off  with 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  293 

her,  and  Dan  locked  the  door,  after  they  quenching 
the  bit  of  fire  upon  the  hearth.  .  .  . 

"To  the  Union!  Och,  Mother!  the  Work- 
house .  .  .  !" 

There's  all  that  Rosy  said. 

"She'll  be  well  minded  there,  Rosy  ...  by 
what  they  say!"  said  Kitty,  crying  down  big  tears. 

But  Rosy  appeared  to  hear  nothing,  only  that 
one  word,  "The  Union!"  and  she  jumped  up,  and 
off  with  her  out  of  the  door,  and  down  the  boreen, 
flying  through  the  pours  of  rain. 

"The  Lord  help  us  now!"  said  Kitty;  "what  at 
all  will  I  do?     And  the  child  wakening  up  to  cry!" 

She  ran  to  the  cradle,  and  whipped  up  the  poor 
Httle  strange  baby  to  comfort  it;  and  then  back 
with  her  to  the  door.  Dan  was  just  slingeing  into 
sight,  from  the  back  of  the  turf -clamp. 

"What  came  over  you  to  stay  away  like  that?" 
said  Kitty  to  him;  "and  there  she's  gone  racing  off, 
once  she  heard  about  the  mother  being  took  off  .  .  . 
and  it  raining  buckets  down  out  of  the  skies  upon 
her  .  .  .  and  she  wid  a  cough.  ..." 

"Why  did  you  let  her  go?" 

"If  you  had  stopped  in,  as  I  asked  you,  you'd 
know  why!"  said  Kitty;  "but  it's  to  the  Union 
she's   making   now.  .  .  .     What  ails  you,  to  be 


294         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

standing  there  talking,  instead  of  going  after 
her?" 

"And  what  will  I  do,  when  I  do  catch  her?" 
said  Dan,  very  meek  and  humble. 

"What  is  there  to  do,  only  go  with  her?  Isn't 
the  little  ass  yoked  there,  that  you  had  out  with 
fodder  to  the  bullocks  this  morning?  God  be 
with  the  day  the  same  ass  fell  lame,  and  had  to  be 
kept  at  Heffeman's.  .  .  .  Marg  that  was  coming 
back  from  the  fair  with  her.  .  .  .  But  do  you  be 
off  now  .  .  .  here,  take  the  ould  umbrell'  with  you, 
and  .  .  .  and  see  here!  the  quilt  from  the  bed  will 
help  to  keep  some  of  the  wet  off  her  .  .  .  and  let 
you  throw  a  sack  about  your  own  shoulders.  ..." 

Dan  did  all  that,  and  started  the  old  donkey  off 
as  well  as  he  could.  Short  and  sweet  like  an  ass's 
gallop,  as  the  saying  is,  and  she  soon  failed  at  it, 
but  he  was  able  to  overtake  Rosy.  And  as  soon 
as  Kitty,  that  was  watching  from  the  door,  saw 
that  he  had  got  her  settled  into  the  cart,  she  went 
back  to  Rosy's  baby,  and  began  to  cry. 

"And  the  others  all  gone  from  her!  Dublin 
must  be  a  hard  place  to  rear  a  child.  To  think 
this  is  the  only  one  she  has  left,  God  comfort  her ! " 

But  it  wasn't  long  Kitty  could  spend  lamenting 
like  that.     She  had  too  much  to  do,  what  with 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  295 

minding  the  two  babies,  and  warming  and  feeding 
the  other  children,  coming  in  wet  and  perished 
from  school.  So  she  didn't  feel  till  it  was  dark 
night  down  upon  her.  And  then  she  began  to 
think  there  must  be  something  wrong,  Dan  was  so 
long  about  getting  back.  And  she  felt  uneasy, 
the  night  was  so  hard.  It  seemed  as  if  the  rain 
was  never  to  stop. 

Once  she  had  the  children  all  in  bed  and  asleep, 
there  wasn't  a  sound  to  be  heard,  only  the  dreep, 
dreep  of  the  wet  from  the  thatch,  and  the  crying 
of  the  wind  in  the  chimney.  She  was  sitting 
by  the  hearth,  rocking  the  cradle.  Every  minute 
was  like  an  hour.  Kitty  would  look  up  at  the  old 
clock,  and  think  something  must  have  stopped  it, 
the  hands  were  moving  roimd  so  slowly. 

Suddenly,  at  long  last,  the  door  opened,  and  in 
staggered  Dan.  Kitty  jumped  up  with  her  heart 
in  her  mouth ;  she  was  so  spent  with  the  long  loneli- 
ness and  the  w^atching,  that  even  to  see  him, 
though  she  had  been  expecting  no  one  else,  gave 
her  a  great  start. 

"Musha,  Dan,  what's  'on'  ye  at  all?"  she  said, 
taking  him  by  the  hand;  for  he  was  so  unsteady 
on  his  legs  that  she  began  to  think  he  had  drink 
taken,  though  it  was  seldom  Dan  took  a  sup  at  aU. 


296         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

He  never  made  her  an  answer,  only  let  her  put 
him  sitting  in  front  of  the  fire,  and  there  he  re- 
mained and  not  a  word  out  of  his  head ;  and  the  wet 
steaming  out  of  his  clothes  and  he  white  with  cold 
and  pure  misery.  Kitty  was  frightened  when  she 
got  a  good  look  at  him.  But  she  said  nothing, 
only  gave  him  some  hot  tea,  and  when  he  had  that 
taken,  and  his  wet  brogues  were  pulled  off,  "Thank 
God!"  he  said,  "that  I'm  safe  back  again!" 

"Ay,  agra, "  said  Kitty;  "but  where  did  you 
leave  poor  Rosy?  I  never  thought  she'd  stop 
away  from  the  child,  above  all.  ..." 

"Stop  away?  ay,  and  that's  what  she's  apt  to 
do!" 

"Ora,  Dan,  what's  this  you're  saying?" 

And  Kitty  began  to  cry  again. 

The  life  was  coming  back  to  Dan  and  the  colour 
to  his  face,  and  said  he,  "I'll  tell  ye  now!  no,  poor 
Rosy  you'll  never  see  again.  .  .  .  She'll  scarce 
pass  the  night,  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  her 
soul!" 

"Oh,  Dan!  is  it  the  truth  you're  telling  me?" 

"It  is,  it  is,  God's  truth!  You  spoke  of  me 
looking  as  if  I  was  after  seeing  a  ghost,  when  I 
came  in  here  this  morning,  to  warn  you  that  she 
was  coming.     Well,  when  I  was  going  along  with 


i 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  297 

her  in  the  cart  to  the  Union,  the  heart  would  die 
in  me  betimes,  the  way  she'd  be  going  on.  ..." 

"What  way?" 

"Och,  laughing  mostly,  and  talking  to  herself. 
'Poor  Art!'  she'd  cry;  'the  day  he  near  cut  the 
thumb  off  himself,  instead  of  one  of  the  seed 
potatoes ! '  and  then  about  some  pickther  they  got 
from  Tommy  the  Crab  .  .  .  and  something  about 
Wild  Geese  .  .  .  romancing  she  must  have  been. 
I  could  not  know  the  half  of  what  she  was  saying. 

"Well,  when  we  got  to  the  Union,  we  were  both 
as  wet  as  if  we  were  after  being  ducked  in  the  sea. 
I  lifted  Rosy  down  out  of  the  cart,  and  by  good 
luck  we  were  just  in  time  to  get  in.  They  were 
about  shutting  the  gates. 

"But  in  any  case,  they  would  have  been  hard- 
set  to  keep  Rosy  out!  She  just  ran  straight  on, 
and  not  a  word  out  of  her!  I  managed  to  get  a 
hold  of  her  arm,  and  kept  her  in  a  bit,  till  I  knew 
what  way  we  ought  to  go  through  that  big  awful 
place.  I  asked  here  and  I  asked  there,  and  at  last 
we  were  put  in  charge  of  a  young  slip  of  a  .  .  . 
ward-maid,  they  called  her.  And  she  got  orders 
to  bring  us  to  a  certain  ward,  and  we'd  find  Mrs. 
Rafferty  there. 

"Of    all    the  cold,  bare  places  ...  the  long 


298         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

passages  and  the  white  walls  and  stone  floors  .  .  . 
it  would  give  you  the  shivers,  only  to  look  about 
you  there! 

"At  last  we  got  to  the  ward,  and  you'd  wonder 
where  all  the  old  women  came  from,  to  fill  it!  It 
was  as  big  as  the  chapel  beyant  .  .  .  but  as 
large  as  it  was,  it  was  small  enough  for  all  it  had  to 
hold.  You  could  scarcely  drop  a  pin  between 
the  beds.  And  some  of  the  women  were  asleep 
and  a  few  lay  there  middling  quiet.  But  the 
weight  of  them  were  sitting  up,  talking  and  laugh- 
ing, or  fighting  with  one  another;  and  a  few  were 
crying  to  themselves.  And  most  of  them  had  little 
weeny  tin  boxes  in  their  hands  that  they  held  out, 
begging  you  for  a  pinch  of  snuff.  You'd  have  to 
pity  them,  they  were  so  anxious  for  it ! 

"We  were  brought  to  a  bed  at  the  far  end  of  the 
room. 

"'There's  Mrs.  Rafferty!'  said  the  ward-maid. 

"Rosy  stooped  down. 

"'Mother!'  says  she;  and  then  she  gave  a  start. 

"'That's  not  her  at  all!'  said  Rosy. 

"'Are  ye  sure?  Look  again!'  said  the  ward- 
maid,  quite  unconcerned. 

"Rosy  put  her  hand  on  my  arm;  it  was  like  a 
live  coal. 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  299 

"'Take  me  away!'  says  she. 

"We  went  through  three  rooms  more,  like  that. 
Raffertys  seemed  as  thick  as  blackberries  there. 
At  every  step,  Rosy's  hand  got  heavier  and  her 
face  wilder. 

"'There's  only  the  one  more,'  says  the  girl, 
'in  that  bed  .  .  .'  and  she  pointed  to  a  comer 
where  there  was  a  screen  up ;  '  troth,  I  believe  yous 
are  late!  Ay,  the  bed's  empty;  she  must  have 
died  since  I  was  round  this  morning  .  .  .  sure  I 
could  have  told  yous.  .  .  .' 

"'I  don't  believe  a  word  of  what  you're  say- 
ing ! '  says  Rosy ;  and  her  face  was  like  scarlet  now. 

"'Plaze  yourselves!*  says  the  girl  very  impu- 
dent and  hardened. 

"But  on  the  minute,  up  came  a  nun;  she  looked 
very  nice  and  kind.  But  what  could  she  do !  only 
bring  us  to  make  sure,  where  the  dead  does  be  put 
.  .  .  and  I  won't  spake  of  that!  But  Rosy  just 
saw  that  it  was  her  very  mother  that  was  lying 
there  ...  no  more  respect  for  her  than  if  it  was 
a  dumb  brute  mother-naked  .  .  .  and  so  Rosy 
gave  one  Httle  sigh  out  of  her,  and  sank  away  down 
from  me,  on  to  the  cold,  hard  floor.  .  .  . 

"  In  a  dead  faint  she  was.  They  got  the  doctor, 
to  see  if  he  could  bring  her  to. 


300         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"'Sir,'  says  I,  'is  there  much  a  trouble  to  her?* 

"'There  is,  indeed,'  he  says,  'but  there  won't 
be  long!'  and  then  he  said  something  about  her 
limgs  having  been  in  a  bad  way  for  some  time  past ; 
and  now  getting  this  chill,  and  the  shock  and  all. 
There  was  little  could  be  done  for  Rosy;  all  the 
doctors  in  Dublin  wouldn't  save  her. 

"'She'll  scarce  pass  the  night,'  he  said;  and 
went  off,  for  he  appeared  to  be  very  busy,  and 
tired-looking  he  was,  too.  The  ntm  and  a  couple 
more  carried  off  poor  Rosy,  and  I  waited  about, 
thinking  to  get  to  see  the  mm  again.  And  so  I 
did,  after  a  long  time.  And  she  said  I  might  go 
home,  for  I  could  do  no  more  there. 

"'You  can't  see  the  poor  young  woman  again,' 
says  she;  'but  it  makes  no  differ,  for  she  knows 
no  one;  and  I'll  see  she  gets  proper  care.* 

"'Oh  sure  I  know  that,  mam,'  says  I;  'but  if 
only  she  could  have  seen  the  poor  mother,  just  the 
once  .  .  .  !' 

"So  she  questioned  me  a  bit,  up  and  down; 
and  I  related  the  whole  thing  to  her,  and  said,  I 
thought  very  bad  of  leaving  Rosy  that  was  a  neigh- 
bour and  so  well  acquainted  with  us  both,  there 
by  herself,  if  death  was  coming  upon  her;  and 
says  the  mm,   '  I  give  you  my  word  again,  she 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  301 

wouldn't  know  you;  she's  not  aware  of  anything 
now,  she's  so  far  through!  But  I'll  promise  you 
that  I'll  look  after  her,  so  long  as  the  breath  is  in 
her,  and  I'll  see  that  everything  possible  is  done 
for  her;  and  let  you  get  off  back  home  .  .  .  you're 
wet  and  tired.  .  .  .' 

"So  she  moved  off,  and  I  got  the  little  ass  .  .  . 
she  was  no  good  to  go  at  all,  by  reason  of  the  rain, 
that  had  her  powerless  .  .  .  but  she's  like  all 
asses  in  that!  But  that's  what  has  me  so  late. 
And  now  we'll  go  to  bed;  I'll  have  to  be  up  at  cock- 
crow in  the  morning.  ..." 

"For  what?"  says  Kitty,  "and  you  so  tired!" 

"That's  what  I  am,  too;  as  betten  as  the  road. 
But  I  must  give  word  at  Heffeman's  of  what's 
after  taking  place!" 

"Them  two  babbies  is  sleeping  very  peaceable, " 
says  Kitty,  taking  a  last  look  at  her  own  and 
Rosy's,  that  she  had  put  lying  beside  one  another, 
snuggled  up  like  a  pair  of  kittens  on  a  shake  down  in 
the  comer ;  "  'twas  God  that  done  it,  that  poor  Rosy 
left  that  child  of  hers  here  with  me,  and  she  making 
off  through  the  rain  this  morning.  ..." 

"Troth,  I  dimno!"  says  Dan;  "I'm  thinking 
we  had  enough  of  our  own  here,  without  that  little 
girleen  of  Art  Heffeman's  as  well!" 


302         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"  Won't  we  have  plenty  for  all,  with  a  blessing?  " 
said  Kitty;  "and  the  way  they  do  be  knocked 
about  in  the  Union !  I  couldn't  bear  the  thoughts 
of  it!" 

Dan  said  no  more  then.  He  went  off,  as  soon  as 
he  could,  the  next  morning.  And  Kitty  was  to 
spend  another  lonely  day,  for  he  never  came  back 
till  it  was  night. 

"Well?"  said  Kitty,  running  out  to  the  door  to 
meet  him. 

"Well,  I  went  up,"  said  Dan,  sitting  down 
upon  the  settle,  and  beginning  to  tell  the  whole 
story,  "and  they  both  were  there,  listening,  and 
never  said  a  word,  till  I  happened  to  mention  the 
old  name;  something  I  said  about  Rosy  and  Art 
Heffernan  do  ye  mind?  And  the  name  had  no 
sooner  crossed  me  lips  when  'Yoke  up!'  says 
Mickey ; '  and  let  you  come  along  with  me,  Dan ! '" 

"'For  what?'  says  Marg. 

"What  answer  he  made  her,  or  if  he  made  any 
at  all,  I  can't  tell  you,  but  away  we  drove,  Mickey 
and  meself.  And  when  we  got  to  the  Union, 
there!  wasn't  poor  little  Rosy  in  the  dead-house 
too,  alongside  the  mother;  the  two  of  them  lying 
there  together.  ..." 

"The  Lord  receive  them  and  mark  them  to 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  303 

grace,  I  pray!"  said  Kitty,  and  she  crossed 
herself. 

"Heffeman  went  straight  off,"  said  Dan;  "and 
he  never  cried  crack,  till  he  had  all  arranged  to 
have  them  took  to  the  Furry  Farm,  back  to  his  own 
place.  And,  moreover,  has  a  funeral  and  wake 
ordered,  in  the  greatest  of  style!" 

"The  Lord  reward  him,  whatever!"  said  Kitty; 
".  .  .  and  the  child  .  .  .  ?  what  did  they  say 
about  her?" 

"Whethen  now,  I  dunno,"  said  Dan,  looking  a 
bit  ashamed. 

"I'll  go  bail,  you  never  as  much  as  spoke  of 
her!"  said  Kitty,  quite  jealous  about  Rosy's 
baby;  "men  does  be  very  queer  betimes.  But 
you  had  your  share  to  be  talking  over!" 

"Ay,  we  had  so,"  said  Dan;  "and  along  with 
all,  Marg  never  gave  me  the  opportimity;  very 
strange  and  silent  in  herself  she  was,  all  through. ". 

"Do  you  tell  me  that!"  said  Kitty. 

"I  was  thinking  in  me  own  mind,"  said  Dan, 
"could  she  have  any  thought  of  all  the  times  ould 
Heffeman  used  to  be  going  to  Rafferty's,  and  the 
talk  there  was  about  he  going  to  marry  Rosy!" 

"Ay,  indeed!"  said  Kitty,  "and  the  Widdah, 
the  innocent  poor  woman  that  she  was!  saying  all 


304         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

she'd  do,  when  she  and  Rosy  would  be  settled  in  at 
the  Furry  Farm!" 

"Little  she  thought,  those  days,  that  it  would 
be  feet  foremost  the  two  of  them  would  be,  going 
there!"  said  Dan. 

Kitty  thought  a  minute  and  then  said  she, 
"And  as  for  whatever  courting  old  Mickey  had 
with  Rosy,  sure  Marg  mightn't  mind  that.  'Twas 
a  thing  of  nothing!  Look  at  the  len'th  of  time 
Heffeman  was  looking  out,  till  he  got  Marg  to 
take  him!  He  was  always  to  be  made  a  hare  of, 
the  same  Mickey,  till  now  that  he  has  her  to  look 
to  and  make  him  respected.  .  .  .  And  neither 
might  Marg  care  for  the  laugh  that  went  round 
.  .  .  sure,  poor  Art  and  Rosy  weren't  half  as 
bad  as  we  ourselves.  ..." 

Fretted  and  all  as  she  was,  Kitty  couldn't  but 
smile  at  the  thought  of  the  trick  she  and  Dan 
played  on  Heffeman. 

"Marg  will  see  that  no  one  makes  a  fool  of 
Mickey  now,  at  any  rate!"  said  Dan;  "but  to  give 
every  one  their  merit,  she's  as  anxious  as  he  is 
now,  to  pay  every  respect  to  them  that  are  gone. " 

Kitty  began  to  cry  again  at  that. 

"God's  good,  that  brought  mother  and  child 
together  in  the  latter  end!"  said  she;  "and  sure, 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  305 

they  were  just  made  upon  one  another,  Rosy  and 
the  Widdah  Rafferty.  ..." 

The  funeral  took  place,  and  a  most  pitiful  sight 
it  was,  to  see  the  two  cofRns  going  off  together, 
past  the  end  of  the  little  boreen  where  the  Raf- 
fertys  used  to  live,  and  on  to  the  graveyard  of 
Clough-na-Rinka.  There  was  a  fine  wake  before 
that;  full  and  plenty  of  everything,  so  that  even 
Dark  Moll  hadn't  a  word  to  say,  only  compli- 
ments. 

"But  what  else  could  a  body  expect?"  says  she 
to  Marg,  "your  mother's  child  couldn't  but  do 
the  thing  decent,  when  you'd  go  about  it!  and  the 
same  at  the  Furry  Farm  itself.  A  good  depend- 
ence Mr.  Heffeman  is  for  all  that  are  living 
imder  him,  and  of  course  that's  what  Kitty  and 
Dan  Grennan  are  looking  to,  when  they  were  so 
ready  to  agree  to  keep  the  babby ;  and  it  a  Heffer- 
nan,  too!" 

Marg  made  no  answer  to  Moll  about  this.  It's 
a  thing  often  to  be  remarked,  how  that  a  man  and 
his  wife  will  grow  to  be  like  one  another.  Marg 
Molally  had  never  been  much  of  a  talker;  and  now 
that  she  was  Marg  Heffeman,  she  wasn't  getting 
much  practice  at  chin-wagging,  and  had  grown 
nearly  as  silent  as  Mickey  himself. 


3o6         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

She  said  nothing,  but  what  Moll  had  remarked 
made  her  think.  It's  a  little  puff  that  will  make  a 
blazing  fire.  Moll  had  put  into  words  what  had 
been  floating  through  her  own  mind. 

The  little  baby  at  Grennan's!  and  it  a  Heffer- 
nan!  Well  Marg  was  aware,  though  Mickey  had 
never  said  so,  that  he'd  wish  to  have  one  of  the  old 
name  to  come  after  him.  And  she  shared  that 
feeling,  in  a  way.  She  was  beginning  to  feel  a  pride 
in  the  Fiirry  Farm  and  everything  about  the  place 
that  was  her  home  now.  Why  wouldn't  Art's 
child  have  some  rights  there?  The  people  used  to 
be  saying,  before  Art  had  gone  off  with  Rosy, 
that  he  stood  a  good  chance  for  coming  in  for 
whatever  Mickey  had  to  leave.  Then  why  not 
this  baby? 

But  what  would  Heffeman  himself  say  to  this? 
He  mightn't  care  for  it  at  all.  There  would  be  the 
expense.  .  .  .  Marg  had  always  been  a  careful 
girl,  but  she  was  more  so  than  ever  now.  She 
couldn't  be  near  and  narrow,  like  Mickey  himself ; 
it  wasn't  in  her.  But  she  knew  he'd  like  to  see  her 
saving.  So  she  got  the  fashion  of  it,  to  humour 
the  old  man  that  was  so  good  to  her  in  his  own 
way.  .  .  .  And  how  would  he  like  to  see  money 
being  spent  on  Art's  child? 


1 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  307 

And  a  child  that  wasn't  her  own!  how  would 
that  be?  Marg  Heffeman  was  really  puzzled 
about  it.  She  couldn't  let  the  thoughts  of  the 
little  child  out  of  her  mind ;  it  kept  coming  between 
her  and  her  work  in  the  daytime  and  her  rest  at 
night.  And  it  was  all  the  harder  on  her,  be- 
cause she  kept  it  all  to  herself.  Speak  of  it  to 
Mickey?  She  couldn't  do  that.  If  he'd  say 
"no!"  away  would  go  the  dreams.  .  .  .  For 
she  never  went  against  her  husband  in  anything. 
But  if  only  .  .  . 

There's  how  she  was  considering  the  thing,  over 
and  over,  up  and  down  and  every  way,  one 
evening  that  she  was  crossing  the  fields  to  Kitty 
Grennan's.  The  fuss  of  the  wake  and  funeral  was 
over  by  then,  and  the  Furry  Farm  was  more  like 
itself  again. 

Before  she  reached  the  house  at  all,  she  could 
hear  the  singing  and  laughing  and  noise  going  on 
inside,  the  same  as  ever,  only  more  so.  And 
when  she  got  there,  and  was  leaning  in  over  the 
half-door,  there,  hadn't  Kitty  the  big  washing- 
tub  over  by  the  fire,  on  the  floor,  and  she  kneeling 
beside  it,  talking  and  chirping  away,  that  it  would 
do  you  good  to  be  listening  to  her. 

"God  bless  your  work!"  said  Marg. 


3o8         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"...  And  you,  too!"  says  Kitty,  just  barely 
looking  up  at  her,  she  was  so  busy. 

"What's  this  at  all  you're  at,  woman  dear?  " 

"What  indeed,  only  bathing  me  two  little 
babbies  I  am!"  said  Kitty,  laughing  through  the 
steam. 

Marg  stood  a  minute,  and  then  she  said,  "Is  it 
that  yous  have  that  child  here  yet?" 

"Where  else?"  said  Kitty. 

"Well,  I  dimno, "  said  Marg;  "I  suppose  every 
one  knows  their  own  business  best  ..."  and 
whatever  came  over  her,  to  make  her  say  that, 
she  didn't  know;  as  if  she  was  faulting  the  Gren- 
nans. 

But  it  made  no  odds  what  she  said.  Kitty  gave 
her  no  answer.  Maybe  she  didn't  hear  what 
Marg  was  after  saying.  She  just  burst  out 
laughing. 

"Ora,  Marg,  will  you  look-at-here!"  she  said; 
"you'd  think  little  Miss  Heffernan,  as  I  do  call 
poor  Rosy's  baby,  was  striving  to  r'ise  herself  up 
out  of  the  tub  of  water,  the  way  she  could  get  a 
look  at  you!  She's  the  cunningest  little  cra- 
ture  .  .  .  !" 

Marg  went  in  at  that,  and  over  beside  the  tub. 

"Take    care!    take    care,    Kitty!"    she    said; 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  309 

"maybe  you'd  let  one  of  them  slip  .  .  .  and 
wouldn't  they  be  very  easy  drownded,  and  they  so 
small!" 

"Och,  the  sorra  fear!"  said  Kitty;  "I  could  be 
handling  a  half-score  of  them,  and  be  making  me 
soul,  at  the  same  time!" 

Of  course,  she  was  a  practised  hand  by  then. 

"Let  me!  ah!  let  me  be  at  them,  too!"  said 
Marg;  and  down  with  her  on  her  two  knees,  and 
began  at  the  baby  that  was  nearest  to  her  in  the 
tub.  And  when  she  felt  the  soft  little  body  in  her 
hands,  and  the  warm,  pleasant  water  with  the 
soap-bubbles  floating  and  winking  upon  it,  her  own 
eyes  began  to  shine,  and  her  cheeks  grew  like 
roses.  Ten  years  younger  she  appeared  to  Kitty 
to  become,  that  minute;  and  a  shy,  happy  smile 
on  her  mouth,  like  a  girl  again. 

"There  now, "  said  Kitty,  lifting  the  other  baby 
out  upon  her  lap;  "we  have  one  a-piece!  But 
how  did  you  know  so  well  to  take  the  right  child?" 

It  was  only  by  chance  it  happened.  But  Marg 
was  holding  the  Heffeman  baby  in  her  arms. 
And  Kitty  saw  now  that  the  tears  were  running 
down  poor  Marg's  face.  So  she  pretended  not  to 
see  that,  and  began  sharing  out  the  baby-clothes 
into  two  heaps,  and  instructing  Marg,  that  had 


310         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

never  done  the  like  before,  how  to  dress  the  baby. 
And  then  she  got  its  food  ready,  and  gave  the  cup 
into  Marg's  hand. 

And  Marg  did  all,  just  as  Kitty  directed  her,  as 
mild  as  if  she  was  an  infant  child  herself.  Her 
eyes  kept  bright  with  tears,  but  they  stopped 
falling,  and  there  remained  the  same  soft  smile 
upon  her  lips. 

She  never  so  much  as  lifted  a  look  from  the 
baby,  till  she  had  done  feeding  her,  and  had  her 
rocked  to  sleep  upon  her  knee,  Kitty  sitting  op- 
posite her  and  doing  the  same;  and  neither  of  the 
women  speaking,  till  the  babies  were  sound  asleep. 

Then  Marg  stood  up,  with  Rosy's  child  in  her 
arms,  and  she  said,  "Now  we  must  be  off  with 
ourselves;  let  you  be  putting  the  cloak  about  me! 
there  it  is,  upon  the  floor,  where  I  let  it  down  off 
me,  before  I  began  at  the  child.  .  .  .  Mind  now, 
take  care  what  you're  doing !  You  might  smother 
the  baby,  easy.  And  now  let  me  be  shortening 
the  way  home.  It  wouldn't  answer  to  be  keeping 
this  little  laneen  out  too  late.  ..." 

"Is  it  taking  her  away  with  you,  you  are!" 
said  Kitty,  very  astonished  at  the  thoughts  of 
Marg  walking  off  like  that  with  the  poor  little 
stray  child  in  her  arms. 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  311 

"What  else,  what  else?  I  can't  leave  her  after 
me !  I'll  not  go  without  her !  Och,  Kitty,  haven't 
you  the  full  up  of  the  house  of  your  own ;  and  why 
wouldn't  I  have  this  one  little  child?" 

"Why  not,  indeed?"  said  Kitty. 

But  it  was  to  herself  she  said  it.  Marg  never 
waited  for  any  answer,  only  walked  off  with  the 
child.  She  never  as  much  as  said,  "Good-even- 
ing!" or  turned  her  head  to  look  at  Kitty,  and  she 
standing  at  the  door  with  her  own  child  hugged  up 
to  her. 

"God  help  her,  I  think  it's  what  poor  Marg 
must  be  bewitched,  to  go  do  such  a  thing  as  that! 
And  what  will  old  Mickey  say?"  thinks  Kitty, 
turning  back  into  the  house,  to  lay  her  own  baby 
into  the  cradle,  and  feeling  lonesome  that  the 
other  one  was  gone.     Kitty  was  foolish  that  way. 

And  as  Marg  was  moving  home,  she  kept  saying 
to  herself,  "What  will  Mickey  say?  But  I  don't 
care!  I'll  not  give  you  back,  even  to  Kitty!  No! 
and  sooner  than  the  Union,  I'U  walk  the  roads 
with  you,  asthore,  if  there  should  be  any  objec- 
tions made  to  you  being  at  the  Ftury  Farm!" 

And  every  now  and  then,  she'd  kiss  it  and  snug 
it  up  close  to  her  very  heart.  Then  the  baby 
would  give  a  little  whimper,  and  go  off  to  sleep 


312         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

again.  She  never  really  wakened  at  all,  indeed; 
•only  lay  so  still,  that  Marg  stopped  more  than 
once,  frightened,  thinking  it  was  what  she  had 
the  baby  smothered. 

But  she  needn't  have  been  uneasy  about  that! 
And  as  for  Heffeman.  .  .  . 

When  Marg  got  home,  she  walked  straight  in  to 
where  Mickey  was  sitting  in  the  kitchen  by  the 
fireside.  And  she  opened  back  her  cloak;  and 
the  child  began  to  stretch  herself  in  the  heat,  and 
to  laugh  and  crow. 

Mickey  that  was  surprised !  and  no  wonder.  He 
nearly  jumped  off  his  stool  at  the  sight  of  the  baby. 
And  Marg  was  too  excited  and  breathless  at  first  to 
explain  the  thing.  He  had  time  to  take  the  pipe 
from  his  mouth,  and  to  knock  the  ashes  out  of  it 
against  the  toe  of  his  brogue,  before  she  got  to  say, 
and  she  catching  her  breath  every  minute  with  a 
kind  of  a  sob,  "I've  brought  that  child  of  Art's 
here,  out  of  Grennan's  .  .  .  and  not  to  see  her 
being  sent  to  the  Union  beyant  to  be  reared  .  .  . 
and  it  would  be  a  disgrace  to  the  name  of  Heffeman 
.  .  .  and  if  there's  a  word  of  objections  to  be  made 
to  her,  let  it  be  said  now !  I  can  go  off  somewhere 
else.  .  .  .  Not  a  fear  of  me,  but  I'll  be  well  able  to 
earn  what  will  do  the  both  of  us  .  .  .  well  able  I 


Rosy  at  Furry  Farm  313 

am  ..."  and  she  rocking  the  baby  in  her  arms, 
and  keeping  a  tight  hold  upon  it,  as  if  she  was  in 
dread  of  poor  Mickey  taking  it  from  her. 

HefiEeman  said  nothing  for  a  minute;  always 
tedious  he  was;  and  says  Marg,  beginning  again, 
"  I've  brought  the  child  here  ..." 

"Ora,  what  else,  woman  dear?"  said  Mickey. 


CHAPTER  IX 

COMRADE  CHILDREN  AT  THE  FURRY  FARM 

Well,  Marg  brought  that  child  home  with  her, 
and  when  she  did,  she  was  so  excited  that  she 
scarce  knew  what  she  was  doing;  bringing  an  old 
house  on  her  head,  as  the  saying  is.  But  if  she  had 
known  itself,  or  had  taken  time  to  think,  would 
that  have  hindered  her? 

Not  it!  She  had  been  the  best  of  a  daughter, 
and  a  sister,  and  wife ;  always  doing  for  others,  and 
forgetting  herself.  But  with  all  the  love  she  had 
given  out,  there  was  more  left  still  in  her  heart 
than  had  ever  been  spent.  It  must  have  been 
waiting  there  for  that  baby  of  Rosy's.  For  once 
Marg  got  the  feel  of  it  in  her  arms,  small  and 
soft  and  helpless,  she  knew  it  was  what  she 
had  been  hungry  for,  those  years  upon  years 
past,  and  had  given  up  all  hopes  of  ever  having 
for  herself. 

And  now,  at  last  she  had  it,  and  she  was  satis- 
fied.   No  one  else  wanted  that  grand  little  baby; 

3H 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm    315 

no  one  else  had  any  call  or  claim  to  it.  It  wasn't 
of  the  Union  Marg  was  thinking,  really ;  let  alone  of 
Grennan's  being  so  poor  a  little  home,  that  to  have 
another  mouth  there  to  fill  wasn't  Hghtly  to  be 
thought  of.  No,  she  made  no  account  of  these 
things.  They  were  all  lost  in  the  one  wish  that 
was  burning  in  her  heart.  She  must  have  that 
child  for  her  very  own. 

And  curious,  too,  it  was,  how  little  Marg  seemed 
to  consider  Mickey  himself  in  this  matter,  as  if 
she  didn't  care  how  he'd  feel  about  the  little  new- 
comer! In  fact,  the  night  she  brought  the  baby 
home,  she  was  more  like  an  old  ewe  with  her  lamb 
than  anything  else ;  on  for  fight  with  even  a  strange 
dog  that  may  happen  by.  And  poor  old  Mickey, 
sitting  there  so  peaceable! 

To  give  him  his  due,  there  never  was  a  word  said 
by  him,  as  if  he  objected  to  the  fuss  of  having  the 
child  there.  Of  course,  it  altered  things  a  good 
deal.  A  baby  coming  into  a  house  always  does. 
And  hasn't  it  a  right  to?  What  are  children  for, 
only  to  teach  us,  in  their  own  little  way,  by  mak- 
ing us  take  care  of  them !  Sent  down  from  heaven 
they  are,  to  help  to  show  us  how  to  get  there.  It's 
a  queer  sort  of  man,  let  alone  a  woman,  but  will  be 
the  better  of  having  to  do  with  a  child.     For  you 


3i6         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

have  to  be  good  to  it ;  and  then  it  does  good  to  you, 
back  again. 

Now,  Mickey  was  one  of  the  best,  if  slow  and 
silent ;  but  good  and  all  as  he  was,  you  may  easily 
imagine  that  he'd  feel  a  bit  put  about  betimes,  at 
finding  himself  left  to  himself  in  such  things  as  not 
having  the  stick  within  reach ;  or  putting  his  specs 
out  of  his  hand  and  forgetting  where  they  were ;  or 
having  to  wait  of  a  morning  to  have  his  brogues 
laced  upon  his  feet,  because  Marg  would  be 
engaged  with  the  child. 

He'd  say  nothing;  that  was  his  way;  just  sit 
there,  most  patient.  But  it's  often  he'd  be  won- 
dering how  a  thing  so  little  would  require  so  much ! 
For  by  the  time  Marg  would  have  the  baby  bathed 
and  dressed  of  a  morning,  and  hushoed  off  to  sleep 
at  night,  let  alone  the  feeding  of  her  through  the 
day,  there  appeared  to  be  little  time  for  anything 
else  to  be  done.  Not  that  Marg  did  neglect  the 
work.  She  managed  it  by  getting  up  earlier  and 
going  to  bed  later,  and  so  she  would  contrive  to 
overtake  all.  And  the  things  to  be  done  seemed 
to  her  less  trouble  than  ever  now ;  because  always 
there  was  the  baby,  waiting  and  wanting  her, 
Marg  Heffeman,  and  no  one  else. 

Marg  would  have  been  contented  to  spend  all  her 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm    317 

time  with  the  child,  petting  it  upon  her  knee,  and 
playing  with  its  fingers,  or  making  drakes'  tails  out 
of  the  little  soft  wisps  of  hair  upon  the  head  of  it! 
Not  that  I'm  wanting  to  make  little  of  the  child  or 
her  hair,  either!  But  at  the  beginning,  she  was 
next  door  to  bald.  As  she  grew  big,  she  grew  nice, 
and  had  the  loveliest  head  of  yellow  curls  you 
might  ask  to  see.  She  had  no  touch  of  a  Hefifeman 
about  her  at  all. 

That  was  the  child  that  lit  on  her  feet  and  no 
mistake,  when  she  was  brought  to  the  Furry  Farm ! 
She  that  was  well  minded;  too  well,  in  fact. 
Poor  Marg  could  scarce  bear  the  wind  to  blow  or 
the  sun  to  shine  down  upon  her;  only  watching 
every  turn,  as  if  she  thought  some  danger  was 
waiting  to  happen  to  that  child,  if  she  took  her  own 
eye  off  her  for  a  minute. 

There's  many  a  woman  like  that.  And  it  may 
be  right  enough,  as  long  as  the  child  is  helpless  in 
your  arms,  because  then  they're  easily  hurt.  But 
it's  another  case  altogether  when  they  begin  to  feel 
the  little  feet  under  them,  and  are  able  to  run 
about.  It  was  then  that  the  real  trouble  began 
with  little  Bride. 

Here's  how  it  was.  Marg  used  to  dress  her  up 
very  grandly.     Nothing  was  too  good  for  the  child. 


3i8         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

What  could  be  got  at  Melia's  shop  wouldn't  an- 
swer at  all.  So  Marg  would  send  off  to  Dublin, 
no  less,  by  Tommy  the  Crab,  that  had  got  on  well 
in  the  world  since  the  morning  he  sold  the  pictures 
to  poor  Art  and  Rosy.  .  .  .  Tommy  had  a  cart 
and  horse  now,  and  was  a  higgler;  going  about 
buying  up  ducks  and  chickens  and  so  on.  And 
he'd  call  in  at  the  Furry  Farm,  and  Marg  would 
give  him  whatever  eggs  or  fowl  she  had  to  sell ;  and 
he  would  bring  her  back  all  manner  of  fineries  for 
little  Bride,  that  he  would  choose  when  he'd  be 
off  in  the  Big  Smoke;  and  very  nice  the  child 
looked  in  what  came  out  of  the  grand  Dublin 
shop,  Tommy  being  very  tasty  and  experiented 
about  such  things. 

But  what  matter  how  she  looked?  Who  was 
there  to  take  notice  whether  it  was  a  puce  frock  or 
a  pink  one  she'd  have  on?  Not  one,  except  Marg 
herself.  The  Furry  Farm  wasn't  a  place  that  was 
apt  to  be  much  frequented  by  people  happening 
in,  and  Bride  was  too  little  still  to  be  taken  where 
she'd  be  seen.  She  might  as  well  have  been 
dressed  in  sacks. 

But  if  you  do  put  good  clothes  on  a  child  that 
size,  you  are  making  trouble  for  yourself,  unless 
you  can  spend  all  your  time  watching  them;  the 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm     319 

clothes,  I  mean.  It  would  take  a  person  all  their 
time,  nmning  after  one  like  little  Bride,  to  keep 
her  from  doing  destruction  on  her  grandeur. 
Marg  had  plenty  of  other  work  that  had  to  be 
done,  so  she  began  teaching  the  child  the  fashion 
of  keeping  quiet,  and  sitting  on  her  creepy-stool 
in  the  comer.  Brigeen  was  easily  taught,  being 
very  biddable,  so  she'd  sit  there,  quite  good, 
till  you'd  have  to  pity  her,  waiting  till  Marg 
would  give  her  leave  to  nm  out  for  a  little  while. 

Too  anxious  poor  Marg  was  about  the  child,  in 
every  way!  afraid  of  being  too  kind  to  her,  and 
spoiling  her  by  too  much  love;  a  thing  impossible, 
if  it's  right  love;  and  afraid,  too,  of  ever  being 
cross  enough  to  say  a  harsh  word  to  her,  let  alone 
to  pimish  the  child,  and  she  without  either  father 
or  mother  to  take  her  part.  Many  a  mother  with 
an  only  child  is  not  half  as  careful  as  Marg  was 
with  Httle  Bride,  that  wasn't  her  own  at  all, 
except  through  her  own  goodness.  If  only  Marg 
could  have  taken  a  leaf  out  of  Kitty  Grennan's 
book!  Kitty,  that  had  a  houseful  of  children  to 
contend  with  by  that  time,  but  took  things  rough 
and  ready,  so  that  her  long  family  was  less  bother 
to  her  than  the  one  at  the  Furry  Farm  was  to 
Marg. 


320         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

Why,  if  little  Bride  cried  .  .  .  !  But  it  was 
seldom  that  occurred.  How  could  it?  Bride  was 
healthy  and  gay,  and  moreover  had  the  best  of 
care  in  every  way.     What  had  she  to  cry  for? 

And  still  in  all,  there's  one  thing  that  none  of  us 
can  do  well  without,  and  that  is,  liberty  to  do  what 
we  want  in  our  own  way.  And  as  well,  children 
want  some  one  the  same  age  as  themselves,  to  be 
company  to  them.  Now,  little  Brigid  had  neither 
friends  nor  freedom.  And  that  was  hard  on  her, 
although,  God  knows!  Marg  meant  nothing  but 
kindness. 

The  child  began  to  be  lonesome  and  forgotten- 
looking.  Marg  herself  noticed  it  at  times,  and 
wondered  what  ailed  her  pet.  She  could  not 
guess;  but  supposing  she  could,  what  was  she  to 
do?  She  might  put  her  two  eyes  upon  sticks,  and 
it  would  be  no  use.  A  grown  person  can  never 
go  back  and  be  a  little  child  again.  And  that 
was  what  ailed  little  Bride  mostly;  the  want  of 
another  child  to  play  with. 

Now,  strange  enough,  it  was  old  Moll  Reilly 
that  first  really  seemed  to  know  what  the  child 
was  pining  for.  Dark  and  all  as  she  was,  she'd 
find  out  things  that  were  going  on,  often  far 
better    than    them    that    had    their    sight.     She 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm    321 

was  sitting  inside  at  Heffeman's  one  evening, 
Marg  being  gone  off  to  the  well,  and  Heffeman 
himself  outside  seeing  about  the  business  being 
done,  so  that  only  Moll  and  the  child  were  in  the 
kitchen.  And  little  Bride,  after  standing  for 
some  time  with  her  finger  in  her  mouth,  came 
sidling  over  to  the  stool  where  Moll  was  sitting 
by  the  fire,  and  crept  in  as  close  as  she  could  to  the 
old  woman,  as  if  for  company. 

"Why  aren't  you  off  somewheres  outside?" 
said  Moll  to  the  child,  "playing  about  in  the  fields, 
where  maybe  you'd  chance  to  meet  up  with  the 
young  Grennans?  Or  up  on  the  Furry  Hills? 
Grand  it  does  be,  there!" 

"I  can't,"  said  Bride,  "because  me  mammy 
doesn't  like  me  to  be  anywhere  that  she  can't  see 
me.  Sometimes  I  do  be  put  out  into  the  yard, 
where  she  can  be  keeping  an  eye  on  me  from  the 
house;  and  she  shuts  the  big  gate  that  opens  out 
into  the  fields  .  .  .  the  way  I'll  be  safe  from  the 
cows  .  .  .  but  they  come  to  the  other  side  of  the 
gate  and  look  through  it  at  me  with  their  wicked 
ould  eyes  .  .  .  and  I  do  be  afeard  of  them.  .  .  . 
And  all  roimd  the  yard,  there's  walls  and  sheds,  too 
high  to  look  over.  .  .  .  Only  there's  one  little 
spot  where  the  wall  is  all  broken  and  very  low 


322         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

down  .  .  .  and  it's  there  I  do  mostly  go;  where 
the  Httle  old  bits  of  a  house  are.  .  .  ." 

"And  what  do  you  be  doing  there,  alanna?" 
said  Moll. 

"Making  a  chaney-house, "  said  little  Bride; 
"all  the  old  jugs  and  cups  that  gets  broken,  me 
mammy  gives  them  to  me,  and  I  have  a  big  big 
roimd  stone  there  to  make  them  into  Httle  bits. 
.  .  .  I'd  bring  you  there,  only  you'd  not  be  able 
to  see  how  grand  I  have  it!" 

"That's  a  quare  place  for  you  to  be!  and  do  you 
never  be  lonesome  there  without  one  only  your- 
self?" said  MoU. 

And  little  B rigid  laughed,  and  said,  "  Indeed  and 
I'm  not  lonesome!  there  does  always  be  some  one 
with  me  there,  where  I  make  the  chaneys.  ..." 

"Your  mammy,  is  it?"  says  Moll. 

"No,  no!  it's  not  me  mammy!"  said  Brigid, 
looking  down  at  the  floor  and  then  all  round  the 
kitchen  as  if  she  was  puzzled;  "it's  .  .  .  it's 
some  one  ...  I  don't  know  ..." 

"What  are  they  like,  that  do  be  there  with 
you?"  asked  Moll. 

Brigid  made  no  answer  to  this,  but  began 
twisting  her  little  hands  together,  and  kicking 
one  foot  to  and  fro.     And  there  was  no  more  to  be 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm    323 

said  then,  for  here  was  Marg  back  with  her  can 
of  water  swinging  by  her  side;  and  Heffeman 
himself,  limping  in  to  look  for  his  tea.  And  the 
kettle  hadn't  boiled,  and  the  fire  was  low,  and 
things  seemed  all  behindhand. 

Marg  fed  the  child,  and  thought  to  get  her  off  to 
her  bed  at  once.  But  whatever  queer  spirit  was  in 
little  Bride,  whether  it  could  have  been  that  she 
was  excited  by  the  talk  she  had  been  having  with 
Moll  about  the  old  bits  of  ruined  wall  and  her 
chaney-house  and  the  "some  one"  that  was  always 
there  with  her  or  not,  it's  hard  to  say ;  only  Marg 
could  get  no  good  of  her  at  all.  She  would  do 
nothing  she  was  bid,  only  running  this  way  and 
that  way,  and  laughing  when  Marg  pretended  to 
get  angry  with  her. 

But  at  long  last,  Moll,  knowing  that  Mickey  was 
getting  worn  out  with  it  all  and  she  herself  in  the 
want  of  her  supper,  thought  she'd  put  in  her  word. 

So  she  said,  "There  now;  too  much  laughing 
ends  in  crying.  See  here,  Bridie,  be  a  good  child! 
Look  at  .  .  .  look  at  how  well  little  Judy  and  Pat 
are  behaving,  playing  about  there  and  no  bother  to 
any  one  ..."  and  she  pretended  to  be  watching, 
or  rather  listening  to  a  couple  of  children  at  the 
other  end  of  the  kitchen. 


324         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

Brigid,  that  had  been  rushing  about,  laughing 
and  shouting,  stopped  Hke  a  shot  at  that,  and 
looked  up  at  Moll. 

"Where,  where  are  they?"  she  said;  "who's  Pat 
and  Judy?  .  .  .  where  do  you  see  them  .  .  .  ?" 

"Look  at  them!  Off  there,  beyant  your 
mammy's  spinning-wheel,  hiding  themselves  .  .  . 
that's  why  you  can't  see  them  .  .  .  and  there, 
now!  there  they  are,  going  off  good  to  their  beds 
as  soon  as  they're  told.  ..." 

At  that  Brigid,  who  had  been  all  noise  and 
movement,  stood  still;  and  the  laugh  died  off  her 
lips,  and  her  eyes  grew  big  and  shining,  as  she 
looked  up,  but  seeming  to  see  nothing.  And  then 
she  lifted  her  little  arms,  and  away  she  went,  as  if 
she  was  floating,  floating,  upon  a  wave  of  the  sea. 
And  as  she  crossed  the  floor  and  disappeared 
through  the  door  of  the  kitchen,  they  could  hear 
her  saying  in  a  half- whisper,  "Are  you  there, 
Judy?     Is  Patsy  with  you?" 

And  then  she'd  go  on  to  answer  her  own  ques- 
tion, "Ay,  indeed,  are  we  here!  and  will  be  in  bed 
and  asleep  before  you.  ..." 

"And  by  that  means, "  said  Moll,  telling  all  this 
one  day  to  Kitty  Grennan,  that  she  had  called  in 
to  see  on  her  rounds,  "by  that  means,  I  got  the 


i 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm    325 

better  of  the  child,  and  she  was  no  more  trouble 
that  evening,  and  Marg  was  able  to  attend  to  the 
business  and  Heffeman  himself,  and  get  all  done. 
It's  no  way  to  be  going  on,  to  have  everybody 
waiting  in  order  to  humour  a  child!" 

"If  it  was  my  case,"  said  Kitty,  "I'd  just  give 
her  a  few  little  slaps.  ..." 

"So  you  would,  and  you'd  be  right,  too.  But 
Marg  is  that  particular!  And  what  is  little 
Brigeen  there,  only  a  cuckoo?" 

"Not  at  aU!"  said  Kitty;  "where  there's  a 
cuckoo  in  a  nest,  he'll  be  pushing  out  the  other 
young  birds,  to  take  all  himself.  But  there's  no 
one  at  the  Furry  Farm  for  little  Bride  to  be  in- 
terfering with ;  there  she  is,  bird  alone !  And  so, 
that's  how  it  comes  to  pass,  what  Dan  was  telling 
me  about,  only  last  night,  that  he  seen  at  Heffer- 
nan's.  He  chanced  to  be  there  a  bit  late,  and  a 
windy  sort  of  a  night  it  was,  and  neither  raining 
nor  letting  it  alone,  only  the  air  dark  with  the  wet 
that  ought  to  fall  and  wasn't.  And  Dan  said, 
you'd  think  there  was  a  whole  troop  of  children 
playing  and  chattering  and  laughing,  in  the  comer 
of  the  yard  where  the  bit  of  the  old  Heffeman 
castle  is,  they  say.  It  was  afterwards  he  thought 
how  queer  it  was !  he  was  in  too  great  a  hurry  then, 


326         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

to  pass  any  remarks,  for  we  none  of  us  care  to  be 
too  late  crossing  the  Furry  Hills  at  night  ..." 

"You're  right  in  that,  too!"  said  Moll. 

"...  but  Dan  said,"  Kitty  went  on,  "that  it 
was  after  he  got  back  here  he  began  to  think  it 
over  .  .  .  and  sure,  he  thought  it  was  the  strangest 
thing,  to  say  there  was  no  one  there  only  little 
Bride,  and  she  was  going  on  talking  and  making 
answer  then  back  to  herself,  as  if  she  had  a  couple 
of  Comrade  Children  there  with  her  .  .  .  and  even 
dogs  she  was  talking  to!  One  she  called  Bixey 
and  another  was  Slangs;  and  she'd  scold  them, 
most  bitter  and  natural;  and  then  she'd  pet  them 
and  make  up  friends  with  them  again.  .  .  .  And 
sure  there  was  neither  child  nor  dog  in  that  place, 
only  Bridie  herself!     It  was  a  fright,  Dan  said!" 

"So  it  was,  a  fright,"  Moll  said,  "and  appears 
most  curious  too !  But  now  I  must  be  off  about  me 
business.  ..." 

"What  hurry  are  you  in?"  said  Kitty;  "Dan  is 
gone  off  to-day  with  Heffeman  .  .  .  some  busi- 
ness or  other.  ..." 

"If  that's  so,"  said  Moll,  "I  may's  well  give 
poor  Marg  a  look  in;  lonesome  the  crature  does 
be  there.  ..." 

So  with  that,  she  waddled  off,  big  cloak  and 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm    327 

stick  and  all.  She  guessed  she  had  got  all  Kitty- 
had  to  spare  for  her,  there  not  being  too  much  in 
that  house,  by  reason  of  all  the  children.  And 
when  she  heard  of  Mickey  not  being  at  home,  she 
bethought  her  that  it  would  be  a  good  opportimity 
for  making  a  call  at  the  Furry  Farm.  Marg,  she 
knew,  would  be  more  free  to  give,  when  himself 
wasn't  there. 

But  when  Moll  got  to  Heffeman's,  it  wasn't 
what  she  expected  that  she  found  there.  She 
looked  to  be  brought  into  a  quiet,  orderly,  comfort- 
able place,  such  as  Marg's  kitchen  had  the  name 
of  always  being;  and  getting  well  fed  and  com- 
forted in  every  way  there.  But  the  whole  place 
was  upside  down.  Not  a  hand's  turn  had  been 
done  there  since  the  breakfast  was  ett ;  everything 
through-other,  and  poor  Marg  herself  running  up 
and  down  and  here  and  there,  like  a  mad-woman. 

Little  Brigid  was  sitting  on  her  creepy-stool  by 
the  fire,  pale  and  shivering  with  the  fright;  and 
the  big  tears  were  streaming  down  her  face. 

"Ora,  what's  this  at  all  at  all?  or  what's  the 
matter?"  said  Moll,  who  dark  and  all  as  she  was, 
as  I  said  before,  could  always  give  a  good  guess  at 
what  was  going  on,  and  in  particular  if  it  was  any- 
thing wrong. 


328         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

"I'm  distracted!"  said  Marg;  "out  of  me  seven 
senses  I  am,  and  don't  know  what  I'm  doing  or 
saying,  and  has  me  poor  little  darlint  there  terri- 
fied !  It's  the  teethaches  I  have,  and  never  closed 
an  eye  these  two  nights,  only  walking  the  floor  .  .  . 
and  I  tried  all  the  remedies  I  can  hear  of .  .  .  . " 

"The  teethaches!"  said  Moll;  "God  help  you, 
then,  but  it's  you  that  are  to  be  pitied!  Meself 
that  used  to  be  mortified  with  them,  till  all  the 
teeth  fell  out.  I  got  some  ease  then.  But  as  for 
remedies,  there's  no  certain  cure  that  ever  I  could 
hear  of .  .  .  .  There's  charms,  of  course.  And  then 
there's  that  Fairy  Doctor  ...  he  lives  on  beyant 
Clough-na-Rinka  ...  a  seventh  son  he  is,  and 
does  a  lot  of  cures.  It's  often  I  used  to  be  thinking 
if  only  he  was  at  that  work  of  doing  cures  before 
my  eyes  got  so  bad  .  .  .  but  sure,  it's  all  the  will 
of  God!  and  nothing  to  be  done  for  them  poor 
eyes  now;  that  day's  gone  by  for  me.  But  for 
teethaches  .  .  .  he's  most  notorious  for  curing 
them.  All  he'll  do,  is  just  pass  his  hand  across 
the  bad  tooth,  and  the  pain  leaves  it  that  instant 
minute.  ..." 

"I  thought  of  him,  over  and  over,"  said  Marg; 
"but  how  can  I  get  to  go,  and  himself  gone  off 
with  the  side-car?  .  .  .  I'd  have  to  walk  every 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm    329 

step  of  the  way.  And  it  would  be  too  far  to  cany 
the  child;  and  worse  to  be  leaving  her  here 
by  herself.  ...  I  wouldn't  know  what  might 
happen «her.  .  .  .  And  the  car'll  not  be  back  till 
dark.  ..." 

"Sure,  what  of  that?"  said  Moll;  "can't  I  be 
sitting  here  tiU  either  of  yous  is  back,  and  keep  an 
eye  ...  I  mean,  be  minding  the  child?  and  let 
you  go  in  the  name  of  God!" 

So  that  took  place.  Marg  rolled  her  cloak  about 
her  and  went  flying  off  at  a  sweep's  trot,  to  get 
cured  by  the  Fairy  Doctor;  and  Moll  settled  her- 
self in  by  the  chimney-comer,  in  Mickey's  own 
big  chair.  She  was  a  very  gay  old  body,  the  very 
sort  that  children  always  love  to  be  with.  So  be- 
fore very  long,  she  had  little  Brigid  sitting  on  her 
lap,  talking  away. 

"You  do  be  very  lonesome  here  betimes,  don't 
you?"  said  Moll. 

"I  do,  middling,"  said  Brigid;  "I  am  this  even- 
ing, with  every  one  gone  off  .  .  .  and  Pat  and 
Judy,  that  I  do  mostly  have  to  play  with,  are  gone 
too.  Off  a  long  ways  they  are ;  gone  to  buy  hay  for 
foddering  the  cattle,  for  the  grass  is  beginning  to 
run  very  short.  ..." 

That  was  the  very  word  she  had  heard  Heffer- 


330         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

nan  saying  when  he  was  starting  off  with  Dan 
awhile  before.  And  whatever  Brigid  knew  to  be 
going  on,  she  and  her  Comrade  Children  were  to 
do  the  same. 

"Where's  that  you  sent  me  mammy  to?"  she 
said  then;  "a  Fairy  Doctor,  is  it?  and  what  kind 
of  a  thing  is  that?" 

"Oh,  there's  different  sorts  of  Fairy-men,"  said 
Moll;  "and,  moreover,  of  Fairy- women,  too! 
Didn't  my  very  grandmother  meet  a  Fairy-woman 
one  evening,  and  she  coming  home  from  a  dance 
at  the  cross-roads;  ay,  and  the  Fairy- woman  had 
seven  fairy  children  after  her  ..." 

"Seven  children!"  said  Brigid,  growing  red  at 
the  thought. 

"...  and  they  all  dressed  in  grand  red  cloaks! 
And  long  hair  as  yellow  as  butter  in  Jime,  and  it 
streaming  down  their  backs  .  .  .  and  golden 
crowns  upon  their  heads  ..." 

"...  Upon  their  heads!"  said  Bride,  with  her 
eyes  shining  and  her  face  quite  pale  now  at  the 
thought  of  all  this. 

"Upon  their  heads,  of  course!  where  else?" 
said  Moll ;  she  might  easy  have  known  better  than 
to  go  on  spouting  out  of  her  like  that  to  the  inno- 
cent poor  child  .  .  .  "  and  riding  upon  ponies  they 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm    331 

do  be  .  .  .  white  ponies,  with  long  tails  flying 
behind  them  in  the  wind,  they  go  so  fast.  ..." 

"Where,  where?  I'd  like  to  see  them!"  said 
the  child,  her  little  voice  choking  with  wonder  at 
all  Moll  was  telling  her. 

"Whethen  now,  they  do  be  in  a-many  places," 
said  Moll;  "the  Furry  Hills  at  the  back  of  this 
very  house  used  to  be  full  up  of  them  ...  is  still, 
for  all  I  know.  ..." 

With  that,  she  bethought  her  of  what  Marg  had 
said,  about  taking  care  of  the  child.  And  she  be- 
gan to  consider  that  maybe  Bride's  mind  might 
get  upset,  and  that  she'd  take  the  notion  of  going 
off  to  look  for  the  fairies  herself. 

So  Moll  went  on  to  say,  "But  all  that  happened 
a  very  long  time  ago;  and  little  girls  mustn't  be 
too  venturesome,  only  do  as  they're  bid,  and  then 
there  will  nothing  happen  to  them!" 

But  it's  the  first  word  that  counts.  Little 
Brigid  took  no  heed  of  this  warning.  She  was 
standing  beside  Moll  now,  with  the  little  rosy 
hand  laid  upon  the  old  woman's  cheeky  apron, 
and  she  looking  up  at  her,  and  listening,  listening, 
to  every  word  that  was  said. 

And  now  she  went  across  to  the  half -door,  that 
she  was  just  able  to  peep  over,  by  standing  upon 


332         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

her  tippy-toes;  and  Moll  could  hear  her  saying, 
in  a  whisper,  "Pat!  Judy!  are  yous  there? 
Mind  now  and  see  to  get  that  hay  off  the  carts 
and  .  .  .  and  ..." 

She  stopped  at  that,  because,  like  many  another 
that  might  be  wishing  to  give  directions,  she 
didn't  know  very  well  herself  what  ought  to  be 
done.  She  used  to  listen  to  Marg  and  Mickey, 
without  appearing  to  mind  them,  and  then,  what- 
ever they  said,  she  would  repeat  it  to  the  Comrade 
Children,  when  no  one  would  be  by  that  would 
maybe  laugh  at  her.  There's  nothing  a  child 
hates  more  than  to  be  made  fim  of.  But  she 
managed  so  that  there  wasn't  a  hand's  turn  done 
about  the  Furry  Farm  but  she  would  have  the 
same  going  on,  with  herself  and  Pat  and  Judy. 

Moll  often  said  afterwards,  that  it  gave  her  a  turn 
as  if  she  was  listening  to  something  not  right,  to 
hear  the  little  voice  talking  away,  and  then  answer- 
ing itself  back,  "  So  we  will,  Brigeen,  do  all  you  say! 
But  when  are  you  coming  out  here  to  play  with  us? 
Tired  we  are,  waiting  on  you.  ..." 

Before  there  was  time  to  make  any  reply  to 
that,  Brigid  ran  back  to  Moll,  and  said,  "Here's 
himself,  coming  back!" 

On  the  minute,  Moll  began  to  stir  herself.     She 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm    333 

never  had  any  great  hopes  out  of  Mickey,  in  the 
way  of  what  he  might  give  her.  She  knew  how 
hard  he  always  got  it,  to  part  money;  and  so,  as 
soon  as  she  had  it  all  explained  to  him,  about  Marg 
being  away,  and  had  got  the  penny  that  Mickey 
handed  to  her  when  he  was  down  off  the  car,  she 
said,  "Now  that  you're  here,  Mr.  Heffeman,  I 
may's  well  be  making  the  road  short.  The  child 
will  be  right  enough  with  you  about  the  place  .  .  . 
and  Dan  too.  ..." 

Mickey  didn't  say  against  her ;  he  had  no  great 
wish  for  having  Moll  in  the  kitchen. 

So  she  went  off,  and  Heffeman  stimiped  into  the 
house,  and  planked  himself  down  in  his  chair  by 
the  fire.  He  gave  a  look  round,  and  there  he  saw 
Brigid,  sitting  on  her  creepy,  looking  as  if  butter 
wouldn't  melt  in  her  mouth,  she  was  so  meek. 

"Well,  Missie!"  said  Heffeman;  for  there's  the 
name  he  had  for  the  child. 

She  said  nothing,  but  he  took  no  notice,  and  not 
long  after,  he  fell  asleep.  He  was  old,  and  tired 
after  the  long  day  he  had  had,  driving. 

Bride  watched  him  for  a  while.  Then,  when  she 
had  made  sure  that  he  was  sound  asleep,  she  rose 
up  off  her  stool,  and  crept  over  very  softly  to  the 
half-door  again. 


334         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

She  had  no  delay  in  opening  it,  because  Mickey 
had  not  fastened  it  as  Marg  always  did,  in  a  way 
the  child  did  not  understand  yet.  Brigid  peeped 
out.  There  was  no  one  in  sight.  Dan  was  gone 
off,  after  unyoking  the  old  mare,  to  drive  in  the 
cows  to  be  milked.  There  wasn't  a  picture  of  a 
man  about  the  yard. 

It  was  the  kind  of  a  spring's  evening  that  you 
would  think  it  a  sin  to  stop  in  the  house ;  cold  and 
bright  and  no  wind  stirring.  Here  and  there  you 
could  hear  a  little  bird  tuning  up,  but  there  was 
little  signs  of  growth  on  anything  yet.  Little 
Bride  thought  something  was  saying  to  her, 
"Come  out!  come  out!"  as  she  stood  a  minute 
half -ways  through  the  door. 

She  looked  back  at  Heffeman.  Was  he  really 
asleep,  she  wondered,  or  only  pretending?  He 
gave  a  sigh,  and  she  was  satisfied  and  looked  out 
again,  and  said,  in  a  whisper,  "Are  yous  there? 
Patsy!  have  you  the  hay  above  in  the  loft.  .  .  ?" 

"Ay,  have  I!"  she  made  answer  to  herself; 
"and  me  and  Judy  only  waiting  on  you,  to  go  off 
to  the  chaney-house  to  play.  ..." 

"Is  it  there  we'll  go?"  said  the  real  child. 

"No!  why  would  we?"  said  the  Comrade 
Children;  "we're  tired  of  playing  there!    We'd 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm    335 

like  to  go  away,  away!  out  beyant  the  yard,  and 
up  into  the  rath  on  the  hill  .  .  .  and  maybe  we'd 
get  to  see  some  of  the  Good  People  there  and  ..." 

"Sure  I  wouldn't  be  let  to  do  that!"  said  little 
Brigid. 

"Och,  come  along!"  answers  the  Comrade 
Children;  "won't  yoiir  own  Pat  and  Judy  be  with 
you,  and  won't  let  anything  happen  to  you?" 

"Do  yous  know  the  way?" 

"Ay  do  we!  weren't  we  often  there,  and  even 
went  into  the  hill  itself!  folHed  after  the  Fairy- 
woman  that  was  looking  for  the  sup  of  new  milk 
for  the  fairy  baby,  and  it  lying  there  upon  her  lap 
sick  for  the  want  of  nourishment!  And  it  was  we 
that  'milked  the  tether'  for  her  to  get  it  from 
Marg's  dairy  into  the  rath.  ..." 

"The  time  the  grand  big  cow  went  back  in  her 
milk  .  .  .  and  me  mammy  was  that  put  out! 
.  .  .  And  will  we  see  the  fairy  children,  with  their 
crowns  of  gold  upon  them,  and  they  riding,  and 
long  red  cloaks  upon  their  backs,  and  .  .  .  ? " 

"To  be  stu-e  we  will!  see  all  there  is  to  see!" 
said  the  Comrade  Children;  "only  let  you  hurry, 

and  not  be  keeping  us  waiting  here  all  night  on 

>> 
you.  .  .  . 

Then  out  of  the  door  goes  little  Brigid,  talking 


33^         The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

all  the  time  to  herself,  and  answering  herself  back 
as  if  there  was  a  whole  regiment  of  children  in  the 
place,  instead  of  only  herself. 

She  ran  straight  to  that  choice  spot  of  hers, 
where  the  small  httle  remains  of  the  old  castle 
of  the  Heffemans  was.  And  there  she  stood  a 
minute,  listening,  you'd  think.  All  that  remained 
there  now  of  the  old  building  that  had  once  been 
so  grand  and  fine  was  a  couple  or  three  bits  of 
walls,  half -roofed,  very  thick  and  strong.  In  one 
of  them  there  was  a  pointy  long-shaped  hole,  like 
where  the  window  of  a  chapel  might  have  been. 
Many  a  time  Brigid  had  stood,  and  had  looked  at 
the  hole,  and  had  longed  to  climb  up  and  out 
through  it,  to  see  what  was  on  the  other  side,  only 
Marg  had  always  checked  her.  So  of  course  the 
child  coiddn't  but  know  that  her  mammy  wouldn't 
wish  her  to  go  through  there. 

But  now  it  seemed  as  if  she  forgot  all  that! 
She  scrambled  up  and  out  through  the  window; 
she  half  fell,  half  jumped  on  to  the  long  grass 
outside.  Of  course  she  had  no  call  to  do  the  like; 
but  don't  we  all  act  contrary  at  times?  and  it's 
often  you'll  hear  it  said,  "Where's  the  sense  in 
being  young,  if  you're  not  foolish?"  Little 
Bride  just  picked  herself  up;  stood  still  a  minute, 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm    337 

looking  back  at  the  hole.  Then  she  held  out  the 
two  little  hands,  the  soft,  rosy  little  hands  that 
Marg  loved  to  kiss,  as  if  to  catch  hold  of  other 
hands;  and  off  she  started,  running  as  fast  as  the 
little  feet  would  carry  her,  towards  the  Hill  of 
the  Rath,  that  was  dim  and  fading  already  into 
the  night. 

Inside  in  the  kitchen,  Mickey  slept  ahead  for  a 
while;  long  enough  in  fact  for  it  to  be  middling 
dark  when  he  began  to  stir  himself  and  waken  up. 
Then  he  looked  about  him,  and  missed  Marg, 
and  remembered  all  that  was  after  happening,  and 
that  she  was  gone  off,  and  the  child  left  in  his 
charge.  She  had  been  sitting  on  her  creepy  in  the 
comer.  He  looked  over  to  see  if  she  was  there 
still.     The  stool  was,  but  the  little  girl  was  gone. 

At  first,  Heffeman  didn't  mind  so  much, 
thinking  it  was  only  outside  Bride  should  be.  So 
he  gave  a  great  shout  of  a  call  to  her,  and  even 
when  there  was  no  answer,  he  only  thought,  "She 
mustn't  be  far;  I  did  no  more  than  close  me  eyes 
for  a  minute  of  time!"  half  ashamed,  the  way  the 
most  of  us  are  about  taking  a  doze  by  the  fire;  as  if, 
you'd  think,  it  was  one  of  the  seven  deadly  sins 
to  fall  asleep  an3n;vhere  only  in  your  bed. 

But  when  no  Bride  appeared,  after  a  bit  Mickey 


338        The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

grew  uncomfortable  in  himself.  He  got  up  and 
limped  over  to  the  door,  to  see  could  he  see  the 
child  in  the  yard.  It  wasn't  till  he  found  that  the 
night  was  settling  down  dark  and  quiet,  that 
the  real  lonesomeness  came  over  him!  He  called 
again,  but  of  course  there  was  nothing,  only  echo 
from  the  old  walls  for  him  to  hear.  Little  Brigid 
was  too  far  away  for  any  shout  from  him  to 
reach  her. 

"What  will  I  do,  at  all  at  all?"  thinks  Heffer- 
nan  to  himself;  "I  wish  to  God  Marg  was  back 
here !  What  a  thing  for  her  to  go  do,  to  be  getting 
the  teethaches  this  day  of  all  days,  and  leave  me 
here  to  be  annoyed  with  the  child  going  astray  on 
me!  And  sure,  if  anything  was  to  happen  little 
Missie,  Marg  would  never  over  it!" 

He  felt  now  that  he'd  give  a  good  deal  to  see 
little  Bride  come  trotting  up  to  the  door;  and  he 
strained  his  eyes  out  into  the  darkness  as  if  by 
that  he  thought  he  might  get  her  back. 

Many's  the  time  he  had  thought  it  long,  when 
he'd  have  to  wait  his  turn  till  Marg  would  be 
done  with  the  child;  and  he  might  sit  there, 
lonely  and  forgotten  and  as  if  he  was  no  con- 
sequence, till  the  child  would  be  dressed  and  fed 
and  all  to  that.     But  he  had  never  said  a  word 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm    339 

of  a  complaint,  and  now  it  was  all  past.  He 
could  only  see  the  look  on  Marg's  face,  when  she'd 
have  Brigid  on  her  knee,  warm  and  smiling  after 
her  bath;  or  latterly,  the  way  she'd  be  folding 
the  little  hands  for  her,  and  getting  her  to  say  her 
prayers,  before  she'd  be  put  into  her  bed.  Heffer- 
nan  was  half -wild,  thinking  how  fretted  Marg  would 
be,  if  she  came  home  and  found  the  child  gone. 

"She'd  never  stop  here  at  all,  wanting  her!"  he 
said  to  himself. 

That  minute,  he  heard  Dan's  foot  outside,  and 
he  called  to  him,  and  gave  him  instructions.  He 
wasn't  to  mind  anything,  mare  or  cows  either, 
only  run  off  to  search  for  the  child;  first  at  the  well, 
and  then  at  the  old  quarry-hole;  and  if  he  got  no 
signs  of  her  at  either  of  those  places,  he  was  to  take 
off  along  the  high-road,  after  a  band  of  tinkers 
that  Heff eman  and  he  had  passed  that  day  coming 
home  after  buying  the  hay. 

"Sure,  what  would  they  want  with  the  child?" 
said  Dan;  "doesn't  the  like  of  them  have  the 
full-up  of  their  ass-carts  of  fine  children  of  their 
own?" 

"Be  giving  me  none  of  your  chat!"  said  Heffer- 
nan  to  him,  pretty  severe;  and  at  that,  off  went 
Dan.     He  was  anxious  enough  himself  by  then. 


340        The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

When  Dan  was  gone,  Mickey  felt  worse  than 
ever. 

"How  am  I  to  stop  here,"  he  thought,  "or 
how  could  I  face  Marg,  if  she  comes  back  to 
find  Missie  gone?  Maybe  it's  what  she'd  show 
fight.  ..."  She  might  say,  wasn't  it  a  queer 
thing,  that  he  couldn't  look  after  the  child  for  one 
evening,  and  she  that  had  always  done  everything 
for  him,  those  years  past !  And  well  he  knew  that 
himself!  He  couldn't  call  to  mind  any  time  that 
he  had  asked  Marg  to  do  a  thing  for  him,  but  she 
was  ready  for  the  job.  And  to  say  he  couldn't  do 
that  much  for  her,  only  dropping  off  asleep  .  .  .  ! 

He  couldn't  keep  inside.  He  hobbled  out  into 
the  yard  again,  and  tried  to  look  through  the 
darkness  that  had  fallen  now  over  everything 
around. 

"It  would  be  very  simple  for  any  one  to  go 
astray  now,  let  alone  a  little  child!"  he  thinks  to 
himself. 

On  the  minute,  he  began  to  call  to  mind  the 
time  he  had  lost  a  lamb  once,  and  that  it  was 
above  upon  the  Hill  of  the  Rath  he  had  foimd  it. 

"And  why  wouldn't  a  child  be  the  same  as  a 
lamb,  and  try  to  get  up  higher  always,  when  it 
would  be  lost?"  he  thought  to  himself;  "and  a 


i 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm    341 

poor  thing  it  would  be,  if  anything  was  to  happen 
Brigeen  now  and  she  half  reared  .  .  .  and  a 
Heffeman  too  .  .  .  and  along  with  all,  to  think 
of  the  way  Marg  is  made  upon  her!  thinks  the 
sun  rises  and  sets  in  that  child ! " 

With  that,  off  stumps  Heffeman,  out  through 
the  yard  into  the  fields  beyond,  towards  where 
the  Hill  of  the  Rath  rose  up,  dark  and  bristly,  a 
piece  off  from  the  house.  The  moon  was  just 
commencing  to  rise,  so  that  he  had  some  light 
to  show  him  where  to  put  his  poor  old  feet  and 
he  limping  along. 

He  hadn't  been  up  the  Furry  Hills  for  many  a 
day,  not  since  he  got  the  game  leg  that  indeed 
hindered  him  of  a-many  a  thing  he  might  be  wish- 
ing to  do.  But  he  set  himself  real  courageous  now 
to  climb  the  Hill  of  the  Rath;  and  you'd  wonder 
how  sprightly  he  went  up  it. 

And  as  he  worked  his  way,  he  could  call  to  mind 
many  a  queer  story  of  what  was  to  be  seen  about 
that  rath;  stories  he  had  heard  from  his  very 
father;  how  that,  one  day  and  they  sowing  oats, 
just  about  that  time  of  the  year,  didn't  there  a 
weeny  little  red  cap  drop  from  out  of  the  rath, 
right  where  they  were  working!  And  some  boy 
ran  to  pick  it  up,  but  before  he  could  reach  it,  my 


342        The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

dear,  didn't  a  great  furl  of  wind  rise  it  off  of  the 
ground  and  blew  it  back  into  the  rath  again! 
And  they  all  thought  to  hear  a  great  laugh ! 

And  another  day,  a  third  cousin  of  his  father's 
was  gathering  nuts,  and  he  a  young  boy  at  the 
time,  and  it  was  from  trees  that  grew  on  the  side 
of  the  Hill  of  the  Rath  he  was  picking  them.  And 
suddenly,  there  was  a  lovely  young  girl,  and  she 
dressed  in  green,  smiling  at  him  very  pleasant. 
And  then  she  disappeared,  as  if  the  hill  had  opened 
to  take  her  in, 

"  It's  no  place  for  a  little  child  to  be,  whatever! " 
thought  Heffeman  to  himself;  "and  maybe 
would  get  a  fright  there  that  would  last  her  for  her 
lifetime!  Or  maybe  not  be  let  come  back  at  all, 
only  a  'Visit'  sent  in  her  place  .  .  .  !" 

Mind  you,  it  was  hard  work  enough  for  any  one 
at  any  time  to  get  up  that  hill,  let  alone  an  old 
lame  fellow  like  Mickey,  and  it  the  night.  The 
place  was  all  grown  over,  too,  with  briers  and 
thorns  and  nut-trees;  and  big  stones  lay  loose 
here  and  there,  and  made  the  going  very  rough. 
But  Heffeman  persevered  on,  until  he  got  to 
the  top,  and  then  he  climbed  down  into  the 
rath;  and  very  lonesome  it  appeared,  and  darker 
than  ever  the  night   was,   when   he  got   to   the 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm     343 

bottom  of  it,  where  a  very  old,  twisted  thorn-bush 
grew. 

Something  white  was  under  the  shelter  of  that 
bush;  no  more,  you  might  think,  than  a  gleam  of 
the  moonlight  that  was  just  beginning  to  peep 
in  over  the  edge  of  the  hollow  of  the  rath.  But 
to  Mickey  that  white  thing  looked  like  the  stray 
lamb  he  had  foimd  there,  in  that  very  spot,  long 
ago.  He  went  over  and  stooped  down,  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  it;  and  what  was  there,  only  little 
Brigid,  lying  there  curled  up  Hke  a  kitten!  And 
she  was  so  tired  that  when  Heffeman  picked  her 
up,  she  only  stirred  herself  round  in  his  arms,  and 
settled  herself  off  to  sleep  again. 

Well,  how  Mickey  got  down  that  steep,  rough 
path  and  he  with  the  child  to  carry,  is  more  than 
I  can  tell  you,  or  indeed  more  than  he  could  un- 
derstand himself.  But  he  did  it.  He  got  her 
safe  home.  When  he  had  her  inside  by  the  fire, 
he  could  see  that  her  little  face  and  arms  were 
scratched  and  bruised  and  torn  with  briers;  and 
so  were  her  grand  little  clothes,  and  muddied, 
where  she  must  have  slipped  and  fallen  a  few  times. 

"But  what  odds  for  all,  when  she's  fotmd  and 
safe  at  home,  before  Marg  is  back!"  said  Heffer- 
nan  to  himself,  as  he  was  letting  himself  down  into 


344        The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

his  big  chair  very  carefully,  the  way  he  wouldn't 
waken  little  Bride,  lying  asleep  in  his  arms. 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  Marg,  God  help  her! 
was  galloping  along  on  her  way  home,  very  happy 
at  being  rid  of  the  teethaches,  that  had  left  her 
soon  after  she  had  been  with  that  Fairy  Doctor. 
There's  people  very  wise  that  will  tell  you  such  a 
thing  can't  be,  but  you'll  see  such  cures  done  about 
Ardenoo.  It  was  so  with  Marg,  anyway,  and  she 
was  in  good  heart,  hurrying  back  to  the  child  and 
Mickey  and  carrying  a  couple  or  three  little  mat- 
ters with  her  that  she  thought  of  when  passing 
Melia's  shop ;  a  newspaper  for  Heffeman  and  a  bit 
of  tobacco,  and  a  sugar-stick  for  the  child.  And 
she  was  thinking  the  way  long  till  she'd  get  home 
to  little  Brigid,  when  didn't  she  bob  up  against 
some  one  in  the  dark;  and  who  was  it  only  Dan. 

"What's  bringing  you  off  here,  Dan?"  said  she, 
"instead  of  attending  to  the  business  at  home; 
is  there  anything  wrong  .  .  .  ?" 

Dan  didn't  know  how  to  begin  to  tell  her. 

"It  was  ...  it  was  himself  that  bid  me.  .  .  . 
I  was  to  make  no  delay  for  anything,  only  look 
for  the  child  along  the  road  .  .  .  and  sure,  as  like 
as  not  ..." 

"The  child!  is  it  Bridie?    What  do  you  mean? 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm    345 

Sure  there's  nothing  after  happening  to  her! 
Speak  up,  why  don't  ye!" 

"Sure  isn't  that  what  I'm  trying  .  .  .  but  she 
can't  be  far,  nor  hadn't  time  to  be  really  lost  .  .  . 
well,  well!"  as  Marg  rushed  away  from  him, 
"why  wouldn't  she  listen,  and  not  go  flying  off 
that-a-way  like  a  mad-woman!" 

Mad!  Well  that's  what  Marg  really  was,  and 
she  racing  along  like  the  wind,  with  a  short  hold 
of  her  skirts,  and  flinging  her  cloak  and  parcels 
from  her,  hither  and  over,  as  she  ran!  What  did 
she  care  about  them,  about  anything  now?  There 
was  only  room  in  her  mind  for  the  one  thought: 
little  B rigid  was  gone. 

Gone!  Lost!  and  what  is  there  that  can 
happen,  able  to  make  you  feel  more  astray  and 
lonesome,  than  to  lose  anything,  even  if  it's  only 
a  button  off  your  shirt?  But  of  all  things,  to  lose 
a  child!  All  the  dreadful  things  that  ever  you 
heard  come  into  your  mind,  and  you  make  up 
your  mind  that  they're  all  happening  to  that  one 
child!  Cold,  you  think,  and  hungry;  worst  of  all, 
tired  and  frightened,  and  crying  out  for  you  to 
save  it! 

And  then  you  wonder  what  at  all  made  it  go  off  I 
Did  you  speak  sharp  to  it,  or  give  it  a  little  slap, 


34^        The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

so  that  the  child  had  gone  off  fretting  and  sore- 
hearted;  and  never  to  come  back  in  life  again? 

All  these  things,  and  more,  passed  through 
Marg's  mind,  as  she  was  tearing  along  the  dark, 
silent  road.  She  kept  saying  to  herself,  with  a 
kind  of  sob,  "What  at  all  am  I  to  do?  Where 
should  she  be?  To  stray  off,  in  the  night  and 
cold  .  .  .  sure  she'll  get  her  death!  What  was 
Dark  Moll  about,  that  she  couldn't  do  that  much, 
and  she  with  nothing  else  to  think  of  .  .  .  and 
how  well  it  should  be  my  poor  little  laneen  that 
wandered  away!  how  well  the  Grennans  can 
have  all  theirs  with  them,  safe  and  warm,  this 
night,  and  my  one  little  pet  to  be  lost  .  .  .  lost! 
I  had  little  to  do,  to  go  leave  the  house  at  all,  for 
any  Fairy  Doctor!  Sure,  if  I  had  stopped  where 
I  was,  the  pain  might  be  gone  by  this!  And  the 
little  child  .  .  .  and  she  so  small  .  .  .  God  and 
His  Holy  Angels  watch  over  her,  this  night, 
I  pray!" 

And  along  with  these  ideas  there  came  into 
Marg's  mind  the  thought  that  when  she'd  get 
back  to  the  house,  there  would  be  Heffeman, 
sitting  by  the  fire,  smoking,  maybe,  and  maybe 
taking  a  sleep  in  his  chair  as  he  had  the  fashion 
of  doing,  easy  and  snug,  and  not  casting  a  thought 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm     347 

on  little  Brigid.  He  never  did  appear  to  take 
much  notice  of  the  child.  And  Marg  felt  now 
that  she  couldn't  stand  that;  it  would  make  her 
hate  the  very  sight  of  Heffeman.  To  think  he'd 
be  there,  just  as  usual,  warm  and  comfortable, 
and  he  near  the  close  of  his  days,  and  her  young 
little  darling  that  was  only  beginning  to  live, 
gone  from  her! 

She  was  wild  when  she  got  to  the  door,  and  out  of 
breath,  so  that  she  had  to  stand  a  minute  before 
she  could  raise  the  latch.  And  as  she  was  shaking 
at  it,  trembling  all  over,  heart,  soul,  and  body, 
behold  ye!  what  did  she  hear,  only  some  one 
singing  inside  in  the  kitchen!  Singing,  of  all 
things!  And  a  queer  old  cracked  voice  it  was, 
too,  that  was  crooning  out: 

"There  was  a  frog  lived  in  a  well, 
Sing  song,  Kitty  Katty  Kimo." 

"The  Lord  save  us!  that  must  be  Mickey  I 
hear!  that  never  lifted  a  lip  to  sing  in  his  mortial 
life  before!  Gone  mad  on  me  he  must  be,  along 
with  all  other  misfortunes!  But  sure,  what  odds 
about  that  or  anything  else,  now!"  thinks  Marg  to 
herself. 

And  at  last  she  got  the  door  open,  and  then  she 


348        The  Folk  of  Furry  Farm 

nearly  fell  into  the  kitchen,  being  giddy  as  well  as 
tired,  not  to  speak  of  the  fret  that  was  on  her. 

What  did  she  see  then,  by  the  light  of  a  fine 
turf  fire,  only  himself  was  sitting  there,  Mickey,  in 
his  own  comer,  where  she  imagined  him  as  she  was 
running  home.  But  what  she  never  thought  to 
see,  he  had  little  Bride  upon  his  knee,  rocking 
and  dandling  her,  as  handy  as  you  please.  Marg 
could  scarce  believe  her  eyes.  She  stood  there, 
trying  to  get  her  breath,  and  looking  at  the  two 
there  before  her;  and  then  she  said,  "She's  not 
lost,  then;  thank  God  for  all!" 

And  still  she  made  no  attempt  to  interfere  with 
Mickey;  she  never  did;  though  now  you  could 
know  by  her  that  she  was  wild  for  the  feel  of  her 
heart's  treasure,  her  cushla  machree,  in  her  own 
arms. 

The  child  opened  her  eyes,  and  looked  up  dream- 
ing-like  at  Marg;  then  slumbered  off  again,  with 
her  rosy  cheek  and  the  tumbled  bush  of  yel- 
low hair  croodled  up  against  Mickey's  old  frieze 
coat,  the  same  as  a  lamb  with  a  ewe.  And  all 
the  wisdom  of  the  world  couldn't  have  shown  her 
better. 

A  little  slow  blush  crept  up  over  poor  Mickey's 
face.     It  was  the  first  time  ever  he  balanced  a 


Comrade  Children  at  Furry  Farm    349 

child  upon  his  knee,  and  he  was  doing  it  the  best, 
though  awkward-appearing,  with  the  child's  legs 
and  one  small  little  arm  hanging  helpless,  and  her 
frock  every  way  upon  her.  But  he  thought  he  was 
great  to  have  Brigeen  hushoed  off  to  sleep.  "See 
that,  now,"  says  he,  "sure  a  child  is  aisy  minded, 
if  only  you  go  about  it  right.  Ay,  and  knewn 
where  to  go  look  for  her,  too,  what  noan  of  yous 
knew,  above  on  the  Hill  of  the  Rath.  ..." 

"You!  you!  was  it  yourself  done  that?  and 
took  that  great  imminse  climb."  The  tears  be- 
gan to  rain  down  Marg's  face;  a  seldom  thing  to 
be  seen.  She  went  over  to  Heffeman  and  stooped 
down  to  kiss  him. 

"Aisy,  aisy  now,"  says  he;  "if  you're  not  care- 
ful, you'll  have  the  child  awake!" 


THE  END 


Carmen    and    Mr. 
Dryasdust 

By  Humfrey  Jordan 

Author  of  "The  Joyous  Wayfarer,"  "Patchwork 
Comedy,"  etc. 

12°.     $1.35 


Carmen  has  smouldering  in  the  depths  of 
her  dark  eyes  much  Southern  fire,  and  her 
heart  holds,  in  addition  to  its  warmth,  not 
a  little  of  feminine  guile.  It  is  this  latter 
possession,  as  well  as  her  saner  view  of 
life,  which  gives  her  the  mastery  over  Mr. 
Dryasdust,  whose  academic  career  has  been 
devoted  with  rare  singleness  of  purpose  to 
a  study  of  the  habits,  physical  peculiarities, 
and  occasional  vices  of  the  common  fly. 
How  Carmen  comes  to  have  her  way,  how 
Mr.  Dryasdust  comes  to  surrender  the  am- 
bition of  a  lifetime,  and  how  Carmen's 
feelings  undergo  a  change  from  tolerant 
affection  to  love  that  seeks  a  place,  a  real 
place,  in  the  life  of  the  man  with  whom 
her  own  life  is  linked,  is  told  with  many 
excellent  touches  of  satire  and  not  a  little 
sly  fun. 


Horace  Blake 

By 
Mrs.  Wilfrid  Ward 

Anthor  of  "Great  Possessions'* 
$1.55  net.    By  mail,  $1.50 

**Mrs.  Ward  has  done  much  excellent  work 
in  the  past,  but  she  has  done  nothmg  to  come 
within  measurable  distance  of  this  remarkably 
fine  book — a  book  quite  off  the  ordinary  lines, 
interesting  from  the  first  page  to  the  last,fotmded 
upon  a  psychological  study  of  exceptionable  power. 
It  is  a  very  common  thing  in  fiction  to  find  our- 
selves presented  to  a  *  great  character,'  but  as  a 
rule  we  are  obliged  to  accept  the  creator's  word 
for  his  greatness.  Mrs.  Ward  has  contrived  to 
make  Horace  Blake  really  and  indeed  great — 
great  in  intellect,  great  in  evil,  and  great,  finally, 
in  good.  He  holds  the  reader  captive  just  as  he 
is  described  as  holding  his  world  captive." 

The  World,  London. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


By  the  Author  of 

'*  Jiunt  Olive  in  Bohemia," 
"The  Notch  in  the  Stick/*  etc. 


The  Peacock  Feather 

By 
Leslie   Moore 

SI»S5  net.    By  mail,  $l.50 

In  a  moment  of  reminiscent  detachment  the 
wearer  of  the  Peacock  feather  describes  himself 
as  "  one  whom  Fate  in  one  of  her  freakish  moods 
had  wedded  to  the  roads,  the  highways  and 
hedges,  the  fields  and  woods.  Once  Cupid  had 
touched  him  with  his  wing — the  merest  flick 
of  a  feather.  The  man— poor  fool  I— fancied  him- 
self wounded.  Later  when  he  looked  for  the 
scar,  he  found  there  was  none."  And  so  he 
wandered. 

Here  is  a  rare  love  story,  that  breathes  of 
the  open  spaces  and  is  filled  with  the  lure  of  the 
road. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


By  th»  Author  of  "  The  Way  of  an  Eagle,' 
"The  Knave  of  Diamonds,"  etc. 


The 
Rocks  of  Valpr6 

By  E.  M.  DeU 

Colored  Frontispiece.    $1.35  net 


The  story  of  a  girl  who  consents  to  wed  the 
man  who  dominates  her,  before  she  is  awake 
to  the  fact  that  he  is  a  stranger  within  her 
gates.  And  when  the  "  preux  chevalier "  of 
her  child-life  again  comes  on  the  stage,  she  is 
quick  to  realize  that  this  companion  of  her 
summer  idyll  challenges  with  her  husband 
the  possession  of  her  heart.  The  author  again 
proves  her  rare  gift  for  character  drawing,  and 
her  ability  to  handle  dramatic  and  delicate 
situations  in  a  wholesome  and  graphic  manner. 

CL  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


